Tag

Poem

Browsing

eyes with the courage to stay open. they’re the only hope we have to find the peace we say we want to see. what could we possibly hope to discover with our backs turned? to fall asleep & invent the world we like with blinders on is a pretty game of privilege, & may be a pleasant illusion, but it will never soothe a soul. Courage moves toward, moves close, looks in the eye, feels with, moves with, fights for. she acknowledges her failure, & my, she fails often. but she tries & tries again for the love of her brother, her sister, the very ground on which she stands. yes, Courage keeps her eyes wide open.       what do you see?  – Torri Hodges                                              …

For everything under the sun there is a time. This is the season of your awkward harvesting, When the pain takes you where you would rather not go, Through the white curtain of yesterdays to a place You had forgotten you knew from the inside out; And a time when that bitter tree was planted That has grown always invisibly beside you And whose branches your awakened hands Now long to disentangle from your heart. You are coming to see how your looking often darkened When you should have felt safe enough to fall toward love, How deep down your eyes were always owned by something That faced them through a dark fester of thorns Converting whoever came into a further figure of the wrong; You could only see what touched you as already torn. Now the act of seeing begins your work of mourning. And your memory is ready…

Why worry about the loaves and the fishes? If you say the right words, the wine expands. If you say them with love and the felt ferocity of that love and the felt necessity of that love, the fish explodes into the many. Imagine him, speaking, and don’t worry about what is reality, or what is plain, or what is mysterious. If you were there, it was all those things. If you can imagine it, it is all those things. Eat, drink, be happy. Accept the miracle. Accept, too, each spoken word spoken with love. – Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things. – Mary Oliver.

Is anybody happier because you passed his way? Does anyone remember that you spoke to him today? This day is almost over, and its toiling time is through; Is there anyone to utter now a kindly word of you? Did you give a cheerful greeting to the friend who came along?  Or a churlish sort of “Howdy” and then vanish in the throng?  Were you selfish pure and simple as you rushed along the way,  Or is someone mighty grateful for a deed you did today? Can you say tonight, in parting with the day that’s slipping fast, That you helped a single brother of the many that you passed? Is a single heart rejoicing over what you did or said; Does a man whose hopes were fading now with courage look ahead? Did you waste the day, or lose it, was it well or sorely spent? Did you leave…

I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy. Some declare their lives are lived as true profundity, and others claim they really live the real reality. The variety of our skin tones can confuse, bemuse, delight, brown and pink and beige and purple, tan and blue and white. I’ve sailed upon the seven seas and stopped in every land, I’ve seen the wonders of the world not yet one common man. I know ten thousand women called Jane and Mary Jane, but I’ve not seen any two who really were the same. Mirror twins are different although their features jibe, and lovers think quite different thoughts while lying side by side. We love and lose in China, we weep on England’s moors, and laugh and moan in Guinea, and thrive on Spanish shores. We seek success in Finland, are born…

Perfection was created to make us feel imperfect, but imperfect, of course, is the perfect thing to be. We spend every hour of every day, every day of every week, trying to be different, trying to be unique. Our nature is to search for answers to life’s questions, concepts we don’t understand, like “What is perfection?” You strive to be “perfect,” a term you don’t understand. You should be yourself before it gets out of hand. Surely happiness is of priority over a word like “perfection,” so ask yourself this, Who looks back in your reflection? – Matthew

Open your heart to happiness, Let every pore absorb light. Swim in the joy of the here and now, And cast off the darkness of night. Walk in the summer of sunshine. Fly in the blueness of sky. Know possibilities are boundless. Understand that nothing can die. Step from the shadows of torment. Sing ’til your throat gets too sore. Smile for as long as the day is, And laugh just a little bit more. Breathe slowly and deeply and listen. Give all your ideas a chance. Let the sun beat down on your goodness, And kick off your shoes and dance. – Paul Hayward

If you grow up the type of woman men want to look at, You can let them look at you. But do not mistake eyes for hands or windows or mirrors. Let them see what a woman looks like. They may have not ever seen one before. If you grow up the type of woman men want to touch, You can let them touch you. Sometimes, it is not you they are reaching for. Sometimes it is a bottle, a door, a sandwich, a Pulitzer — another woman. But their hands found you first. Do not mistake yourself for a guardian or a muse or a promise or a victim or a snack. You are a woman — skin and bones, veins and nerves, hair and sweat. You are not made out of metaphors, not apologies, not excuses. If you grow up the type of woman men want to hold,…