Thursday, September 22, 2011

When You are Old by William Butler Yeats


When You Are Old

BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
William Butler Yeats
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.


Aging and poetry, all the memories that seem to become alive. A link to read more is here. http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1923/yeats-bio.html

Sunday, September 18, 2011

The Road and the End by Carl Sandburg


The Road and the End

BY CARL SANDBURG
I shall foot it
Down the roadway in the dusk,
Where shapes of hunger wander
And the fugitives of pain go by.

I shall foot it
In the silence of the morning,
See the night slur into dawn,
Hear the slow great winds arise
Where tall trees flank the way
And shoulder toward the sky.

The broken boulders by the road
Shall not commemorate my ruin.
Regret shall be the gravel under foot.
I shall watch for
Slim birds swift of wing
That go where wind and ranks of thunder
Drive the wild processionals of rain.

The dust of the travelled road
Shall touch my hands and face.


Really powerful poetry. A link to read more is here. http://carl-sandburg.com/biography.htm

i thank You God for this most amazing day by ee cummings

i thank You God for this most amazing day
by e e cummings




i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)





Spiritually exuberant. A link to read more of his poetry is here. http://allpoetry.com/e_e_cummings

Thursday, September 15, 2011

If you stand very still by Patience Strong

If you stand very still
by Patience Strong


If you stand very still in the heart of a wood
you will hear many wonderful things-
the snap of a twig, the wind in the trees,
and the whirr of invisible wings.


If you stand very still in the turmoil of life
and wait for the voice from within-
you'll be led down the quiet ways of wisdom and peace
in a mad world of chaos and din.


If you stand very still and you hold to your faith
you will get all the help that you ask.
You will draw from the silence the things you need
-hope and courage, and strength for you task.


Some days I need to be reminded of this. A link to read more about her is here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patience_Strong

Friday, September 9, 2011

Women by Louise Bogan


Louise BoganWomen 
Louise Bogan

Women have no wilderness in them,   

They are provident instead,   
Content in the tight hot cell of their hearts   
To eat dusty bread.   

They do not see cattle cropping red winter grass,   
They do not hear   
Snow water going down under culverts   
Shallow and clear.   

They wait, when they should turn to journeys,   
They stiffen, when they should bend.   
They use against themselves that benevolence   
To which no man is friend.   

They cannot think of so many crops to a field   
Or of clean wood cleft by an axe.   
Their love is an eager meaninglessness   
Too tense, or too lax.   

They hear in every whisper that speaks to them   
A shout and a cry.   
As like as not, when they take life over their door-sills   
They should let it go by.

Great observational and opinion piece. A link to read more of her poetry is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/louise-bogan

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

September Midnight by Sara Teasdale


September Midnight

BY SARA TEASDALE
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
       Ceaseless, insistent.   

The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
       Tired with summer.   

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
       Snow-hushed and heavy.   

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
       Lest they forget them.


Wonderful September poem. A link to read more of her poetry is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/sara-teasdale