111 posts categorized "Poetry"
The poetry of hands holding out my thanks, 57
Oh, the beauty in those raised hands / detail from a Jan Luyken and Pieter Arentsz etching; circa 1687
In the morning as the storm begins to blow away
the clear sky appears for a moment and it seems to me
that there has been something simpler than I could ever believe
simpler than I could have begun to find words for
not patient not even waiting no more hidden
than the air itself that became part of me for a while
with every breath and remained with me unnoticed
something that was here unnamed unknown in the days
and the nights not separate from them
not separate from them as they came and were gone
it must have been here neither early nor late then
by what name can I address it now holding out my thanks
~ "Just Now" by W. S. Merwin
Visitation from the sun
... which seemed like a
visitation from the sun, urging me to tell you, in
case like me you had forgotten
we are the universe's latest way of blooming.
~ an excerpt from Untitled ["This poem is not meant for you"] by Willow Harth
As a tree contains its rings
"We always feel younger than we are. I carry inside myself my earlier faces, as a tree contains its rings. The sum of them is me. The mirror sees only my latest face, while I know all my previous ones."
~ Tomas Tranströmer
Letting things go
Sun, shadows and trees in winter / 2014
"I realize there is something incredibly honest about trees in Winter, how they're experts at letting things go."
~ poet Jeffrey McDaniel
Tapping a wall
To converse with the greats
by trying their blindfolds on;
to correspond with books
by rewriting them;
to edit holy edicts,
and at the midnight hour
to talk with the clock by tapping a wall
in the solitary confinement of the universe.
~ "To Converse with the Greats" by Vera Pavlova
Quietly shining
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
~ Samuel Coleridge, excerpt from Frost at Midnight
Singing until the morning
Two Exotic Birds, drawing on paper by Aert Schouman, 1762
There are tones so high
And so low
That human ears
Cannot hear them.
It's possible, living
In forest or hedge
That birds hide from us
Singing until the morning.
~ Silent Night by Dutch Poet Albert Verwey
Each moment is a place
If I had a hammer, if I had a guitar, ... / Feb. 2014
Nothing will tell you
where you are.
Each moment is a place
you've never been.
~ an excerpt from "Black Maps" by Mark Strand
From meditation
Walking: meditation and meandering / Jan 2013
Buddha was asked, "What have you gained from meditation?" He replied, "Nothing! However, let me tell you what I have lost: anger, anxiety, depression, insecurity, fear of old age and death."