News

He's too old, this child with the round, small
face, the serious eyes, in a world
that is too old--wars and waves,
hunger and holocaust, fire and flood and blood--
and he asks me this: were there fewer disasters
when I was a child?
I think not, but I say I paid less attention.

And what of now: I am like a dryad,
more concerned with whether there will be rain
to water my roots, with stretching my bare arms
in the warm sun, with keeping the woodcutter's ax
far from my tree,
as if the world of man were somehow
distant and disconnected from me
and all it takes is not
reading the news.

Obligatory Spring Poem

Spring
    (or, Unlike March, April Presumes No Affectations)

Birdsong heralds dawn;
Tiny, soft green shoots sprout in
Fields of dry brown grass.

I Look for You

     Solomon Ibn Gabirol

I look for you early,
my rock and my refuge,
                  offering you worship
            morning and night;
before your vastness
I become confused
             and afraid for you to see
     The thoughts of my heart.

Roads Go Ever On

     J.R.R. Tolkien


Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon.

Holy Sonnet XIV

     John Donne

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you

As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;

That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend

Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like an usurp'd town to another due,

Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end;

Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,

But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain,

But am betroth'd unto your enemy;

Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,

Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,

Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Under a Hat Rim

     Carl Sandburg

While the hum and the hurry

Of passing footfalls

Beat in my ear like the restless surf

Of a wind-blown sea,

A soul came to me

Out of the look on a face.

Eyes like a lake

Where a storm-wind roams

Caught me from under

The rim of a hat.

I thought of a midsea wreck

and bruised fingers clinging

to a broken state-room door.

Ambition

     Lord Byron


He who ascends to mountain tops shall find
  The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow:
He, who surpasses or subdues mankind,
  Must look down on the hate of those below.
Though high above the sun of glory glow,
  And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,
Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow
  Contending tempests on his naked head;
And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.

Eternal Reverie

Lydia Daugaard

Morning stopped,

To listen to the mighty whisper

Of the heron's unfolding wings.

It stopped for the oaks,

Their arms outstretched 

Against a rosy and roused canvas. 

The sanguine sky with his timid demeanor sat,

Rubbing his slumber-glazed eyes. 

And the morning stopped to admire him, 

Rendering his cheeks an emblazoned red. 

Morning stopped for the barefoot hills,

Scampering with pleasure towards the horizon.

It stopped for the callow ground, 

Set like a dream amidst a lazy tier of fog,

And embellished with altogether flawless beads of dew. 

Morning stopped to compose itself,

Beaming with the youthfulness of daylight.

It is a mystery.

Morning stopped,

But aroused an eternal reverie. 

Love Through Me

    Amy Carmichael

Love through me, Love of God;

There is no love in me.

O Fire of love, light Thou the love 

That burns perpetually.

Flow through me, Peace of God;

Calm River, flow until

No wind can blow, no current stir

A ripple of self-will.

Love (Herbert)

    George Herbert

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

      Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

      From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

      If I lack'd anything.

Mother to Son

     Langston Hughes


Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

Fever

     John Updike

I have just brought back a good message from the land of 200°:

God exists.

I had severely doubted it before:

but the bedposts spoke of it with utmost confidence,

the threads in my blanket took it for granted,

the tree outside the window dismissed all complaints,

and I have not slept so justly for years.

It is hard now to convey

how emblematically appearances sat

upon the membranes of my consciousness;

but it is a truth long known

that some secrets are hidden from health. 

Solitude

     Lord Byron

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,

There is rapture on the lonely shore,

There is society where none intrudes

By the deep sea, and music in its roar.

I love not man the less, but nature more,

From these our interviews in which I steal

From all I may be, or have been before;

To mingle with the universe, and feel

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Within This Strange and Quickened Dust

      Madeleine L'Engle


O God, within this strange and quickened dust
The beating heart controls the coursing blood
In discipline that holds in check the flood
But cannot stem corrosion and dark rust.
In flesh's solitude I count it blest
That only you, my Lord, can see my heart
With passion's darkness tearing it apart
With storms of self, and tempests of unrest.
But your love breaks through blackness, bursts with light;
We separate ourselves, but you rebind
In Dayspring all our fragments; body, mind,
And spirit join, unite against the night.
Healed by your love, corruption and decay
Are turned, and whole, we greet the light of day.

The Road and the End

  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.

When Poetry Escapes you

     by Lydia Daugaard

When poetry escapes you,

And you are stripped of your eloquence,

Robbed of your rhythm

And aching for rhyme...

When life lacks color, and confidence,

And you cannot find words,

But only the end of yourself...

When stillness and silence are not enough

To quiet your heart,

And the light in your eyes is fading

Like the day at dusk...

Be still.

I will still be here,

Patiently waiting for you.

I am yours, beloved,

And you are mine. 

A Line-Storm Song

     Robert Frost

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, 

  The road is forlorn all day, 

Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, 

  And the hoof-prints vanish away. 

The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee,

  Expend their bloom in vain. 

Come over the hills and far with me, 

  And be my love in the rain. 

Graspings

             by Jessica Stein


You, once, two-thousand years ago,

Were a man. Would that I could 

Grasp the truth of that reality.

When you walked, dust puffed up

In muffled protest to the tread of your

Sandaled, dirty feet. The same feet were

Washed with tears and anointed with 

Perfume, dried with a woman's

Tumbling hair. Did, I wonder, that

Thick, rich perfume sting against cuts

And blisters from days of traveling?

When the people pressed close

About you, and you strained your 

Throat already sore from days

of speaking to reach the outskirts of the people,

Did the smell of their sweat and

Their unwashed bodies reach you?

Did it bother you? But all this,

It is merely the skin, the senses—

Were you ever lonely for the dance

Of eternities you had momentarily left

To get to know us? You were angry,

Once at least, and how your eyes

Must have blazed. How many sunrises 

Did you watch as you hid in the wilderness

With your Father? I wonder whether 

You ever stood silent, heart shattering 

Because of the beauty of this 

Broken, burdened world.

Perhaps you too, along with the 

Spirit, are groaning for our redemption

And the restoring of the earth.

For you too were a man, you knew

and still know our sufferings and the 

trials of the human race. Would that 

I could grasp that truth more fully.

A Word

(Photo: That Red One, by Arthur Dove, 1880-1946) 

      by Gary Gildner

Give me I said to those round

young faces a round word

and they looked at me

fully puzzled until finally

several cried What do you mean?

I mean I said round round

you know about round

and Oh yes they said but

give us examples!

Okay I said let's have a

square word

square maybe

will lead us to round.

And they groaned

they groaned and they frowned

every one except one

little voice way in the back said

Toast.

Valley of Dry Bones

     by Kelley Goewey

White bones, dry bones,

Bleaching in the sun.

These are my bones.

I am dead and gone.

Numb and empty,

Marrow scorched away.

Always empty,

Nothing but a grave.