The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn
Little Dandelion
Happy little Dandelion
Lights up the meads,
Swings on her slender foot,
Telleth her beads,
Lists to the robin’s note
Poured from above;
Wise little Dandelion
Asks not for love.
Cold lie the daisy banks
Clothed but in green,
Where, in the days
Why I Wake Early
Hello, sun in my face.
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety –
best preache
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You Matter
You are not small.
You are not unworthy.
You are not insignificant.
The universe wove you from a constellation
just so, every atom, every fiber in you
comes from a different star.
Together,
you are bound by stardust,
altogether spe
Blue Iris
Now that I'm free to be myself, who am I?
Can't fly, can't run and see how slowly I walk.
Well, I think, I can read books.
"What's that you're doing?"
the green-headed fly shouts as it buzzes past.
I close the book.
Well, I can write down
January
Little January
Tapped at my door today.
And said, "Put on your winter wraps,
And come outdoors to play."
Little January
Is always full of fun;
Until the set of sun.
Little January
Will stay a month with me
And we will have such jolly ti
“Winter Time”
"Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a winter cake."
~ Robert Louis Stevenson
Art: Hasse Bredenberg (Hans Erik)
Beginnings of the Body, Ends of the Sea
by Adonis (Ali Ahmad Said)
Maybe
there is no love on earth
except the one we imagine
we will win, some day
Don’t stop
Go on with the dance, dear love, dear poetry
even if it were death
I imagine I am the so
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This morning
the hawk
rose up
out of the meadow's browse
and swung over the lake-
it settled
on the small black dome
of a dead pine,
alert as an admiral,
its profile
distinguished with sideburns
the color of smoke,
and I said: remember
this is not
Yes, I am a dreamer.
For a dreamer is one
who can only find his way
by moonlight,
and his punishment is that
he sees the dawn before
the rest of the world.
- Oscar Wilde
Painting: "Evening", by Austrian painter Hans Zatzka
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WALDEINSAMKEIT
Ich hab in meinen Jugendtagen
wohl auf dem Haupt einen Kranz
getragen;
die Blumen glänzten wunderbar,
ein Zauber in dem Kranze war.
Der schöne Kranz gefiel wohl allen,
doch der ihn trug, hat manchem
mißfallen;
ich floh den gelben M
“The witchery of living
is my whole conversation
with you, my darlings.
All I can tell you is what I know.
Look, and look again.
This world is not just a little thrill for the eyes.
It’s more than bones.
It’s more than the delicate wrist with its pe
I live my life in widening circles
that reach out across the world.
I may not complete this last one
but I will give myself to it.
I circle around God, around the primordial tower.
I’ve been circling for thousands of years
and I still don’t know:
Today I offer up “Sleeping in the Forest” by Mary Oliver as our daily pause with nature.
Sleeping in the Forest
By: Mary Oliver
I thought the earth
remembered me, she
took me back so tenderly, arranging
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of l
The morning is stormy
in the heart of summer.
Like white farewell handkerchiefs
the clouds wave, they sway
the wind with hands feverish for travel.
-Pablo Neruda-
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Oh Earth, you are too dear tonight,
How can I sleep while all around
Floats rainy fragrance &the far
Deep voice of the ocean that talks to the ground?
Oh Earth, you gave me all I have … what have I
That I can give you in return-
Except my body aft
I talk to the Moon
by Stalwart Dull
I talk to the moon when
I find myself alone
Start writing with my pen
And throw myself a stone
I talk to the moon when
I start thinking of you
As I count one to ten
What am I supposed to do?
I talk to the
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THE SPIRIT OF AUTUMN
I am the burnished leaves of gold
The early morning mist, your breath of cold
The tiny toadstools in the grass
The crunch of leaf-laiden, woodland paths
The breeze that carries, the leaves away
And causes the branches, to roc
A collaborated Poetic Verse..
Raven Leads My Way Again..
-All Rights Reserved
Madrugada - Call My Name
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by Joshua Gage
The fog gathers
its robe at my knees.
A wild goose cries,
lost from her flock.
Blown by Autumn winds,
I have become
dust upon the road.
Even my footprints vanish.
Deserted for twelve long years,
the crooked path
that leads to the te
