poetry wednesday : feast on your life
Love After Love The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other’s welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. …
poetry wednesday : rub up against the unfamiliar
Serve by Valancy Reynolds hello. I will be your poet for this evening. I hope you do not mind if I do Rearrange your words make you rub up against the unfamiliar put some strangers in your midst just to see what might happen when you don’t get what …
poetry wednesday: monsoon
Today is Wednesday. That means poetry here on 37days. And today’s poem is by a member of the VerbTribe online writing course that is ending tomorrow (and that ending is simply a new beginning for these amazing writers). I have been blessed to be their guide for these past 37 …
poets know where “here” is.
Lost Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here, And you must treat it as a powerful stranger, Must ask permission to know it and be known. The forest breathes. Listen. It answers, I have made this place around you, …
poets start close in.
Start Close In –David Whyte Start close in, don’t take the second step or the third, start with the first thing close in, the step you don’t want to take. Start with the ground you know, the pale ground beneath your feet, your own way of starting the conversation. Start …
poets consider the hands that write this letter
Consider the Hands that Write This Letter after Marina Wilson Consider the hands that write this letter. The left palm pressed flat against the paper, as it has done before, over my heart, in peace or reverence to the sea or some beautiful thing I saw once, felt once: snow …
poets awaken our eye.
Fresh To move Cleanly. Needing to be Nowhere else. Wanting nothing From any store. To lift something You already had And set it down in A new place. Awakened eye Seeing freshly. What does that do to The old blood …
poets save us by love.
Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore, we must be saved by hope. Nothing which is true or beautiful or good makes complete sense in any immediate context of history; therefore, we must be saved by faith. Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished …
poets wonder who will survive all these liberations.
Who Said It Was Simple There are so many roots to the tree of anger that sometimes the branches shatter before they bear. Sitting in Nedicks the women rally before they march discussing the problematic girls they hire to make them free. An almost white counterman passes a waiting brother …
poets tell us where our home is.
Why Bodhidharma Went to Howard Johnson’s “Where is your home,” the interviewer asked him. Here. “No, no,” the interviewer said, thinking it a problem of translation, “when you are where you actually live.” Now it was his turn to think, perhaps the translation? -Jane Hirshfield (The Wisdom Anthology of North …
