I learn, as the years roll onward,
And leave the past behind,
That much I had counted sorrow
But proves that God is kind;
That many a thorn of pain,
And many a rugged bypath
led to fields of rippened grain.
.
The clouds that cover sunshine
they cannot banish the sun;
And the earth shines out the brighter.
when the weary rain is done
We must stand in the deepest shadow
to see the clearest light;
And often through wrong's own darkness
comes the very strength of light.
a place to share random thoughts in nature
Friday, November 30, 2012
I Live My Life In Widening Circles By Rainer Maria Rilke
I live my life in widening circles,
that reach out across the world.
I may not ever complete the last one,
but I give myself to it.
.
I circle around God, that primordial tower.
I have been circling for thousands of years,
and I shall not know, wondering, am I falcon,
a storm, or a great song?
(1975-1926)
Translated By Anita Barrows,
and Joanna Macy
that reach out across the world.
I may not ever complete the last one,
but I give myself to it.
.
I circle around God, that primordial tower.
I have been circling for thousands of years,
and I shall not know, wondering, am I falcon,
a storm, or a great song?
(1975-1926)
Translated By Anita Barrows,
and Joanna Macy
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Politeness
Politeness is not always fitting,
Being polite could disappoint
because you won't get what you need
if you choose to give in,
it is a result
of inconsistence, weak
or meek position of blind
tolerance...we loathe
politeness, since it comprises,
and leads to frustrations.
Say "No" if you must,
wait for your turn
by standing behind
the long line,
take it
if people
gifts you
in true manners.
Being polite could disappoint
because you won't get what you need
if you choose to give in,
it is a result
of inconsistence, weak
or meek position of blind
tolerance...we loathe
politeness, since it comprises,
and leads to frustrations.
Say "No" if you must,
wait for your turn
by standing behind
the long line,
take it
if people
gifts you
in true manners.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Poetry Is Money Itself? By Kay Ryan
Poetry is kind of money,
whose value depends on reserves.
It's not the paper it's written on
or its self-announced denomination.
But the bullion, sweated from the earth
and hidden, which preserves its worth.
Nobody knows how this works,
and how can it be? Why does something
stacked in some secrets bank or cabinet,
some miser's trove, far back, lambent.
and gloated over by its golem, make us
so solemnly convinced of the transaction
when Mandelstam says "gold", even
in translation?
whose value depends on reserves.
It's not the paper it's written on
or its self-announced denomination.
But the bullion, sweated from the earth
and hidden, which preserves its worth.
Nobody knows how this works,
and how can it be? Why does something
stacked in some secrets bank or cabinet,
some miser's trove, far back, lambent.
and gloated over by its golem, make us
so solemnly convinced of the transaction
when Mandelstam says "gold", even
in translation?
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Dana Naone (Kaneohe, Oahu, Hawaii): The Distance
I have been sitting for days
trying to flatten my right breat
in hope of becoming an Amazon.
You appeared as a repairman
and went straight to the switch-
board behind my stomach.
a strange orange bird had been
pecking through all the wires,
You killed the bird and used
its feathers to make new connections.
My first call was to Egypt.
All the cobras came to the phone
flaring and hissing.
trying to flatten my right breat
in hope of becoming an Amazon.
You appeared as a repairman
and went straight to the switch-
board behind my stomach.
a strange orange bird had been
pecking through all the wires,
You killed the bird and used
its feathers to make new connections.
My first call was to Egypt.
All the cobras came to the phone
flaring and hissing.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
What Does Poetry Do To Me? The 4 Line Run!
Google.com
word connection and metaphors too,
they speak and express point of view.
.
Lyrics, Haiku, verses, tanka, free style...
poetry keeps your brain refreshed for a while...
After A Visit By Thomas Lanier Williams
Google.com
The petals of the cosmos
are fallen to the vase;
And evening is denial
of all that morning was...
.
The smell of tea and lemon,
And an angle of a chair,
Remain your only signature
Against the darkening air.
are fallen to the vase;
And evening is denial
of all that morning was...
.
The smell of tea and lemon,
And an angle of a chair,
Remain your only signature
Against the darkening air.
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