Wednesday, 4 July 2018

In the Kingdom of Midas

Image result for midas


In the Kingdom of Midas - Linda Pastan

If you follow the sun
from room to room,
wading in the pools
of light spilled
by that tawny,
molten river,

if you move all day
from east
to west, from kitchen
to study to bed,
by afternoon you'll see
the bedposts touched

and changed to sheaves of wheat,
and the children born
and nourished there will be
golden tongued
and golden headed.

For you the moon has always been
the pale,
homely sister.
You tell your rosary
in saffron beads of light,

and though one day
you'll drown
in shade, the sun
will leave its heavy coins
on your closed lids
forever.

Saturday, 30 June 2018

Peonies

Image result for peonies

Saving the best till last - peonies! <3


Peonies -   Mary Oliver

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open —
pools of lace,
white and pink —
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities —
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again —
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?

Friday, 29 June 2018

Hydrangeas

Image result for blue hydrangeas


 
Blue Hydrangeas - Gillian Clarke

You bring them in, a trug of thundercloud,
neglected in long grass and the sulk
of a wet summer. Now a weight of wet silk
in my arms like her blue dress, a load
of night-inks shaken from their hair –
her hair a flame, a shadow against light
as long ago she leaned to kiss goodnight
when downstairs was a bright elsewhere
like a lost bush of blue hydrangeas.
You found them, lovely, silky, dangerous,
their lapis lazulis, their indigoes
tide-marked and freckled with the rose
of death, beautiful in decline.
I touch my mother’s skin. Touch mine. 
 

Thursday, 28 June 2018

Wildflowers

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'...For their fierce and unruly joy...' what a great description of wildflowers! And a perfect love poem too. 



Wildflowers - Linda Pastan

You gave me dandelions.
They took our lawn
by squatters’ rights—
round suns rising
in April, soft moons
blowing away in June.
You gave me lady slippers,
bloodroot, milkweed,
trillium whose secret number
the children you gave me
tell. In the hierarchy
of flowers, the wild
rise on their stems
for naming.
Call them weeds.
I pick them as I
picked you,
for their fierce,
unruly joy.

Wednesday, 27 June 2018

Rose

 Related image
'Without her, how can we ever 
talk about what our hopes were...'

Ah, the rose.  The most beautiful of all flowers. Seems Rilke is in agreement according to this exquisite reflection. 


from The Roses - Rainer Maria Rilke

A single rose is every rose
and this one: irreplaceable,
perfect, a supple vocable
by the text of things enclosed.

Without her, how can we ever
talk about what our hopes were,
about the tender intervals
in this perpetual departure.

Let's not speak of you. Ineffable.
That is your nature.
Other flowers decorate the table
you transfigure.

We put you in a simple vase -
everything is mutable:
perhaps it's the same phrase,
but now sung by an angel.

Tuesday, 26 June 2018

Daisies

 Image result for daisies

The quintessential summer flower.  

Daisy Time - Marjorie Pickthall

See, the grass is full of stars,
Fallen in their brightness;
Hearts they have of shining gold,
Rays of shining whiteness.

Buttercups have honeyed hearts,
Bees they love the clover,
But I love the daisies' dance
All the meadow over.

Blow, O blow, you happy winds,
Singing summer's praises,
Up the field and down the field
A-dancing with the daisies.

Monday, 25 June 2018

Lupins

Image result for lupins

I'm posting flower poems all this week to celebrate summer. 


Lupins - Seamus Heaney

They stood. And stood for something. Just by standing.
In waiting. Unavailable. But there
For sure. Sure and unbending.
Rose-fingered dawn's and navy midnight's flower.

Seed packets to begin with, pink and azure,
Sifting lightness and small jittery promise:
Lupin spires, erotics of the future,
Lip-brush of the blue and earth's deep purchase.

O pastel turrets, pods and tapering stalks
That stood their ground for all our summer wending
And even when they blanched would never balk.
And none of this surpassed our understanding.

Sunday, 24 June 2018

Poppies

Image result for poppies

'...and that happiness,
/when it's done right,/
is a kind of holiness,/palpable and redemptive...'

Mary Oliver makes a very powerful case here for the goodnesss in life. Our best weapon against the darkness? Happiness. Joy. Light.


Poppies - Mary Oliver

The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn't a place
in this world that doesn't

sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage

shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,

when it's done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?



Saturday, 23 June 2018

Summer Dusk


Image result for birds on a wire blue dusk


Dusk in June - Sara Teasdale

Evening, and all the birds
In a chorus of shimmering sound
Are easing their hearts of joy
For miles around.

The air is blue and sweet,
The few first stars are white,--
Oh let me like the birds
Sing before night.

Friday, 22 June 2018

A Dreaming Week

Image result for dreaming moon 

A Dreaming Week  - Carol Ann Duffy
Not tonight, I’m dreaming
in the heart of the honeyed dark
in a boat of a bed in the attic room
in a house on the edge of the park
where the wind in the big old trees
creaks like an ark.
Not tomorrow, I’m dreaming
till dusk turns into dawn – dust, must
most, moot, moon, mown, down –
with my hand on an open unread book,
a bird that’s never flown…distantly
the birdsong of the telephone
Not the following evening, I’m dreaming
in the monocle of the moon,
a sleeping S on the page of a bed
in the tome of a dim room, the rain
on the roof, rhyming there
like the typed words of a poem.
Not the night after that, I’m dreaming
till the stars are blue in the face
printing the news of their old light
with the ink of space,
yards and years of black silk night
to cover my sleeping face.
Not the next evening, I’m dreaming
in the crook of midnight’s arm
like a lover held by another
safe from harm, like a child
stilled by a mother, soft and warm,
twelve golden faraway bells for a charm.
Not that night either, I’m dreaming
till the tides have come and gone
sighing all over the frowning sand,
the whale’s lonely song
scored on wave after wave of water
all the wet night long.
Not the last evening, I’m dreaming
under the stuttering clock,
under the covers, under closed eyes,
all colours fading to black,
the last of daylight hurrying
for a date with the glamorous dark.
 

Thursday, 21 June 2018

Summer Solstice

Summer Solstice Sun


Happy Summer Solstice! Wishing you lots of light and the energy of fire and flowers!


Summer Solstice Chant - Annie Finch

The sun, rich and open,
stretches and pours on the bloom of our work.

In the center of the new flowers,
a darker wing of flower

points you like a fire.

Point your fire like a flower.

Sunday, 20 May 2018

Epitaph

 Image result for white rose

 for Paul x May 20/2015


Epitaph on a Friend - Edward Burns

An honest man here lies at rest,
The friend of man, the friend of truth,
The friend of age, the guide of youth;
Few hearts like his, with virtue warm’d,
Few heads with knowledge so inform’d;
If there’s another world, he lives in bliss;
If there is none, he made the best of this.

Wednesday, 16 May 2018

Let Go

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o by the by - ee cummings
 
o by the by
has anybody seen
little you-i
who stood on a green
hill and threw
his wish at blue

with a swoop and a dart
out flew his wish
(it dived like a fish
but it climbed like a dream)
throbbing like a heart
singing like a flame

blue took it my
far beyond far
and high beyond high
bluer took it your
but bluest took it our
away beyond where

what wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmers little you-i
as the hill becomes nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go

 

Tuesday, 15 May 2018

For the Sake of Strangers

 Image result for strangers passing
 'All day it continues, each kindness
reaching toward another..'


For The Sake Of Strangers - Dorianne Laux

No matter what the grief, its weight,
we are obliged to carry it.
We rise and gather momentum, the dull strength
that pushes us through crowds.
And then the young boy gives me directions
so avidly. A woman holds the glass door open,
waits patiently for my empty body to pass through.
All day it continues, each kindness
reaching toward another – a stranger
singing to no one as I pass on the path, trees
offering their blossoms, a retarded child
who lifts his almond eyes and smiles.
Somehow they always find me, seem even
to be waiting, determined to keep me
from myself, from the thing that calls to me
as it must have once called to them –
this temptation to step off the edge
and fall weightless, away from the world.

Monday, 14 May 2018

May

Image result for Blossom time  suddenly everything  ablaze with light - matsuo


The perfect description of this month.  
 


Haiku - Matsuo Basho

Blossom time
suddenly everything
ablaze with light

Friday, 6 April 2018

Unable Are the Loved to Die

Image result for forget me nots ]

For Paul x



809 - Emily Dickinson

Unable are the Loved to die
For Love is Immortality,
Nay, it is Deity—

Unable they that love—to die
For Love reforms Vitality
Into Divinity.

Thursday, 5 April 2018

April Song

 Image result for despite the weather live like its spring


April - Sara Teasdale

The roofs are shining from the rain.
The sparrows tritter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.

Yet the back-yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree–
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.

Wednesday, 4 April 2018

April

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April - Mary Oliver

I wanted to speak at length about
the happiness of my body and the
delight of my mind for it was
April, a night, a
full moon and-

but something in myself or maybe
from somewhere other said: not too
many words, please, in the
muddy shallows the

frogs are singing.

Tuesday, 3 April 2018

It's April, it's Spring!


Image result for april flowers

Hello April, hello Spring!

 
when faces called flowers - ee cummings

when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
-it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together)


when every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving-
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
-alive;we're alive,dear:it's(kiss me now)spring!
now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
now the little fish quiver so you and so i
now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)


when more than was lost has been found has been found
and having is giving and giving is living-
but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
-it's spring(all our night becomes day)o,it's spring!
all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)

Tuesday, 20 March 2018

Spring Equinox

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The right poem will always find you at the right time.
There is always a turning point.
There is always light. There is always love.

Happy Spring Equinox.


March 20 - Ted Kooser

How important it must be
to someone
that  I am alive, and walking,
and that I have written
these poems.
This morning the sun stood
right at the end of the road
and waited for me.


Monday, 5 March 2018

March Mindset

 
 

March 1912 - Natasha Trethewey                             

–Postcard, en route westward

At last we are near
breaking the season, shedding
our coats, the gray husk

of winter.  Each tree
trembles with new leaves, tiny
blossoms, the flashy

dress of spring. I am
aware now of its coming
as I’ve never been—

the wet grass throbbing
with crickets, insistent, keen
as desire.  Now,

I feel what trees must—
budding, green sheaths splitting—skin
that no longer fits.

       

Friday, 2 March 2018

Spring Moon

 Image result for moon with blossoms

Indeed.


The Spring Moon -
How many miles away
Those orange blossoms!

                                      -Jack Kerouac

Wednesday, 28 February 2018

The Weight of Sweetness

 Image result for peaches


The Weight of Sweetness - Li-Young Lee 

No easy thing to bear, the weight of sweetness.

Song, wisdom, sadness, joy: sweetness
equals three of any of these gravities.

See a peach bend
the branch and strain the stem until
it snaps.
Hold the peach, try the weight, sweetness
and death so round and snug
in your palm.
And, so, there is
the weight of memory:

Windblown, a rain-soaked
bough shakes, showering
the man and the boy.
They shiver in delight,
and the father lifts from his son’s cheek
one green leaf
fallen like a kiss.

The good boy hugs a bag of peaches
his father has entrusted
to him.
Now he follows
his father, who carries a bagful in each arm.
See the look on the boy’s face
as his father moves
faster and farther ahead, while his own steps
flag, and his arms grow weak, as he labors
under the weight
of peaches.

Tuesday, 27 February 2018

Turning

 Image result for black shepherd dog

Turning - WS Mervin

Going too fast for myself I missed 
more than I think I can remember

almost everything it seems sometimes 
and yet there are chances that come back

that I did not notice when they stood
where I could have reached out and touched them

this morning the black shepherd dog
still young looking up and saying

Are you ready this time
 

Monday, 26 February 2018

Beginning

 Image may contain: sky, outdoor and nature
 
 
Beginning - James Wright
 
The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.   
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
Now.
There they are, the moon's young, trying
Their wings.
Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone
Wholly, into the air.
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.

Sunday, 25 February 2018

Moon Memories

Image result for singing at the moon


I Sang - Carl Sandburg

I sang to you and the moon
But only the moon remembers.
I sang
O reckless free-hearted
free-throated rhythms,
Even the moon remembers them
And is kind to me.

Saturday, 24 February 2018

Wait

 Image result for buds on a tree


Wait - Galway  Kinnell

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become interesting.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again;
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. The desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a little and listen:
music of hair,
music of pain,
music of looms weaving our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

Friday, 23 February 2018

Truthseeker

 Image result for compass


seeker of truth - ee cummings

seeker of truth

follow no path
all paths lead where

truth is here

Thursday, 22 February 2018

Happiness

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Happiness - Naomi Shihab Nye

It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness.
With sadness there is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change.

But happiness floats.
It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
It doesn’t need anything.
Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
and disappears when it wants to.
You are happy either way.
Even the fact that you once lived in a peaceful tree house
and now live over a quarry of noise and dust
cannot make you unhappy.
Everything has a life of its own,
it too could wake up filled with possibilities
of coffee cake and ripe peaches,
and love even the floor which needs to be swept,
the soiled linens and scratched records . . .

Since there is no place large enough
to contain so much happiness,
you shrug, you raise your hands, and it flows out of you
into everything you touch. You are not responsible.
You take no credit, as the night sky takes no credit
for the moon, but continues to hold it, and share it,
and in that way, be known.

Sunday, 21 January 2018

Bliss

Related image
Indeed :)
 

Bliss - May Sarton

In the middle of the night,
My bedroom washed in moonlight
And outside
The faint hush-hushing
Of an ebbing tide,
I see Venus
Close to
The waning moon.
I hear the bubbling hoot
Of a playful owl.
Pierrot's purrs
Ripple under my hand,
And all this is bathed
In the scent of roses
By my bed
Where there are always
Books and flowers.

In the middle of the night
The bliss of being alive!

Friday, 19 January 2018

Winter Landscape with Rooks

Image result for winter landscape with rooks
 '...what solace
can be struck from rock to make heart's waste
grow green again?'


Winter Landscape, with Rooks - Sylvia Path

Water in the millrace, through a sluice of stone,
plunges headlong into that black pond
where, absurd and out-of-season, a single swan
floats chaste as snow, taunting the clouded mind
which hungers to haul the white reflection down.

The austere sun descends above the fen,
an orange cyclops-eye, scorning to look
longer on this landscape of chagrin;
feathered dark in thought, I stalk like a rook,
brooding as the winter night comes on.

Last summer's reeds are all engraved in ice
as is your image in my eye; dry frost
glazes the window of my hurt; what solace
can be struck from rock to make heart's waste
grow green again? Who'd walk in this bleak place?

Thursday, 18 January 2018

A Black Birch in Winter

Image result for black birch tree in winter



A Black Birch in Winter - Richard Wilbur

You might not know this old tree by its bark,
Which once was striate, smooth, and glossy-dark,
So deep now are the rifts that separate
Its roughened surface into flake and plate.

Fancy might less remind you of a birch
Than of mosaic columns in a church
Like Ara Coeli or the Lateran
Or the trenched features of an agèd man.

Still, do not be too much persuaded by
These knotty furrows and these tesserae
To think of patterns made from outside in
Or finished wisdom in a shriveled skin.

Old trees are doomed to annual rebirth,
New wood, new life, new compass, greater girth,
And this is all their wisdom and their art—
To grow, stretch, crack, and not yet come apart.

Wednesday, 17 January 2018

Lonely

Image result for jet trail over arctic


Song - Adrienne Rich

You’re wondering if I’m lonely:
OK then, yes, I’m lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield on the ocean.

You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely.

If I’m lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawn's first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep.

If I’m lonely
it’s with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it’s neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning.

Tuesday, 16 January 2018

Hailstorm

 Image result for hailstone shower

 'A maelstrom
of ferocious little
fists and punches...'

Hailstones always elicit a simultaneous arghh/awed reaction from me. Perfectly described here by Kay Ryan.

Hailstorm - Kay Ryan

Like a storm
of hornets, the
little white planets
layer and relayer
as they whip around
in their high orbits,
getting more and
more dense before
they crash against
our crust. A maelstrom
of ferocious little
fists and punches,
so hard to believe
once it’s past.

Tuesday, 2 January 2018

The Year

 Related image

 The landscape of a year gone, and a new one in front of us. 

 

The Year - Carl Sandburg

I

A storm of white petals,
Buds throwing open baby fists
Into hands of broad flowers.

II

Red roses running upward,
Clambering to the clutches of life
Soaked in crimson.

III

Rabbles of tattered leaves
Holding golden flimsy hopes
Against the tramplings
Into the pits and gullies.

IV

Hoarfrost and silence:
Only the muffling
Of winds dark and lonesome—
Great lullabies to the long sleepers.

Monday, 1 January 2018

New Day

Image result for new beginning


from New Every Morning - Susan Coolidge

Every day is a fresh beginning;
    Listen my soul to the glad refrain,
And, spite of old sorrow and older sinning,
    And puzzles forecasted and possible pain,
    Take heart with the day, and begin again.

Sunday, 31 December 2017

A Toast

Image result for new year toast

Wishing all my readers a very Happy New Year!



A Toast! - Lang Leav

To new beginnings
             in fear and faith
             and all it tinges.

To love is a dare,
             when hope and despair
             are gates upon its hinges. 


Thursday, 28 December 2017

Song of Three Smiles

Related image
 
Song of Three Smiles - WS Mervin
 
Let me call a ghost,
Love, so it be little:
In December we took
No thought for the weather.

Whom now shall I thank
For this wealth of water?
Your heart loves harbors
Where I am a stranger.

Where was it we lay
Needing no other
Twelve days and twelve nights
In each other’s eyes?

Or was it at Babel
And the days too small
We spoke our own tongue
Needing no other?

If a seed grow green
Set a stone upon it
That it learn thereby
Holy charity.

If you must smile
Always on that other,
Cut me from ear to ear
And we all smile together.

Wednesday, 27 December 2017

Christmas Snow


 Related image

Heart highs reading this. (Snow-swoon!)


Snow - Gillian Clarke


The dreamed Christmas,
flakes shaken out of silences so far
and starry we can’t sleep for listening
for papery rustles out there in the night
and wake to find our ceiling glimmering,
the day a psaltery of light.

So we’re out over the snow fields
before it’s all seen off with a salt-lick
of Atlantic air, then home at dusk, snow-blind
from following chains of fox and crow and hare,
to a fire, a roasting bird, a ringing phone,
and voices wondering where we are.

A day foretold by images
of glassy pond, peasant and snowy roof
over the holy child iconed in gold.
Or women shawled against the goosedown air
pleading with soldiers at a shifting frontier
in the snows of television,

while in the secret dark a fresh snow falls
filling our tracks with stars.

Tuesday, 26 December 2017

On the 13th Day of Christmas...

Image result for 12 days of christmas

We wouldn't really thank our true love for bombarding us with this array of shenanigans now would we!

On the Thirteenth Day of Christmas My True Love Phoned Me Up... - Dave Calder 

Well, I suppose I should be grateful, you’ve obviously gone
to a lot of trouble and expense – or maybe off your head.
Yes, I did like the birds – the small ones anyway were fun
if rather messy, but now the hens have roosted on my bed
and the rest are nested on the wardrobe. It’s hard to sleep
with all that cooing, let alone the cackling of the geese
whose eggs are everywhere, but mostly in a broken smelly heap
on the sofa. No, why should I mind? I can’t get any peace
anywhere – the lounge is full of drummers thumping tom-toms
and sprawling lords crashed out from manic leaping. The
kitchen is crammed with cows and milkmaids and smells of a million stink-bombs
and enough sour milk to last a year. The pipers? I’d forgotten them –
they were no trouble, I paid them and they went. But I can’t get rid
of these young ladies. They won’t stop dancing or turn the music down
and they’re always in the bathroom, squealing as they skid
across the flooded floor. No, I don’t need a plumber round,
it’s just the swans – where else can they swim? Poor things,
I think they’re going mad, like me. When I went to wash my
hands one ate the soap, another swallowed the gold rings.
And the pear tree died. Too dry. So thanks for nothing,
   love. Goodbye.


Monday, 25 December 2017

The Universal Hymn of Love

 
                                                       Related image


Christmas Morning - Eugene Field

The angel host that sped last night,
Bearing the wondrous news afar,
Came in their ever-glorious flight
Unto a slumbering little star.

'Awake and sing, O star!' they cried.
'Awake and glorify the morn!
Herald the tidings far and wide--
He that shall lead His flock is born!'

The little star awoke and sung
As only stars in rapture may,
And presently where church bells hung
The joyous tidings found their way.

'Awake, O bells! 't is Christmas morn--
Awake and let thy music tell
To all mankind that now is born
What Shepherd loves His lambkins well!'

Then rang the bells as fled the night
O'er dreaming land and drowsing deep,
And coming with the morning light,
They called, my child, to you asleep.

Sweetly and tenderly they spoke,
And lingering round your little bed,
Their music pleaded till you woke,
And this is what their music said:

'Awake and sing! 'tis Christmas morn,
Whereon all earth salutes her King!
In Bethlehem is the Shepherd born.
Awake, O little lamb, and sing!'

So, dear my child, kneel at my feet,
And with those voices from above
Share thou this holy time with me,
The universal hymn of love.

Sunday, 24 December 2017

Christmas Eve

 Image result for nativity
 

Nativity - Louise Gluck

It is the evening
of the birth of God.
Singing &
with gold instruments
the angels bear down
upon the barn, their wings
neither white
wax nor marble. So
they have been recorded:
burnished,
literal in the composed air,
they raise their harps above
the beasts likewise gathering,
the lambs & all the startled
silken chickens ... And Joseph,
off to one side, has touched
his cheek, meaning
he is weeping ---

But how small he is, withdrawn
from the hollow of his mother's life,
the raw flesh bound
in linen as stars yield
light to delight his sense
for who there is no ornament.
 

Saturday, 23 December 2017

Lines for a Christmas Card

Image result for christmas card

Short, but definitely not sweet. Ho ho ho!



Lines for a Christmas Card - Hilaire Belloc

May all my enemies go to hell,
Noel, Noel, Noel, Noel.

Friday, 22 December 2017

Winter Stars


 

Winter Stars - Sara Teasdale

I went out at night alone;
 The young blood flowing beyond the sea
Seemed to have drenched my spirit’s wings—
 I bore my sorrow heavily.

But when I lifted up my head
 From shadows shaken on the snow,
I saw Orion in the east
 Burn steadily as long ago.

From windows in my father’s house,
 Dreaming my dreams on winter nights,
I watched Orion as a girl
 Above another city’s lights.

Years go, dreams go, and youth goes too,
 The world’s heart breaks beneath its wars,
All things are changed, save in the east
 The faithful beauty of the stars.

Thursday, 21 December 2017

Winter Solstice

The brighter you shine, the more others will respond to your Light. You needn't market or tell others how enlightened you are or how many you help etc.. You don't have to convince anyone. All you have to do is shine ~Kara via soulsticerising.com

Ironic isn't it, that in this winter season, our celebration focuses on light.


'Wring Out My Clothes' - Fraincis of Assisi

Such love does
the sky now pour,
that whenever I stand in a field,

I have to wring out the light
when I get
home.

Tuesday, 19 December 2017

Holly

Image result for holly


Holly - Seamus Heaney

It rained when it should have snowed.
When we went to gather holly

the ditches were swimming, we were wet
to the knees, our hands were all jags

and water ran up our sleeves.
There should have been berries

but the sprigs we brought into the house
gleamed like smashed bottle-glass.

Now here I am, in a room that is decked
with the red-berried, waxy-leafed stuff,

and I almost forgot what it's like
to be wet to the skin or longing for snow.

I reach for a book like a doubter
and want it to flare round my hand,

a black letter bush, a glittering shield-wall,
cutting as holly and ice.



Monday, 11 December 2017

Snow Fall

Image result for snow fall
'There is nothing to do
But drift now, more or less
On some great lovingness...'
 
Snow Fall - May Sarton

With no wind blowing
It sifts gently down,
Enclosing my world in
A cool white down,
A tenderness of snowing.

It falls and falls like sleep
Till wakeful eyes can close
On all the waste and loss
As peace comes in and flows,
Snow-dreaming what I keep.

Silence assumes the air
And the five senses all
Are wafted on the fall
To somewhere magical
Beyond hope and despair.

There is nothing to do
But drift now, more or less
On some great lovingness,
On something that does bless,
The silent, tender snow.

Saturday, 11 November 2017

Rest




Untitled - Jeffrey Yang

west of rest is sleep
east, dream
where waters meet
north, emptiness,
south, wakefulness,
and out, rising up
to the stars, peace.


Friday, 10 November 2017

Losses

 Image result for castaway

Losses - Kay Ryan

Most losses add something—
a new socket or silence,
a gap in a personal
archipelago of islands.

We have that difference
to visit—itself
a going-on of sorts.

But there are other losses
so far beyond report
that they leave holes
in holes only

like the ends of the
long and lonely lives
of castaways
thought dead but not.

Tuesday, 7 November 2017

The Region November

 Image result for november night

 'Deeplier, deeplier, loudlier, loudlier,
The trees are swaying, swaying, swaying...'


The Region November - Wallace Stevens

It is hard to hear the north wind again,
And to watch the treetops, as they sway.

They sway, deeply and loudly, in an effort,
So much less than feeling, so much less than speech,

Saying and saying, the way things say
On the level of that which is not yet knowledge:

A revelation not yet intended.
It is like a critic of God, the world

And human nature, pensively seated
On the waste throne of his own wilderness.

Deeplier, deeplier, loudlier, loudlier,
The trees are swaying, swaying, swaying.