Sunday, February 13, 2011

Hello My Daughter

Daughter, here I am, I am here.
Where now I ask,
praying for them, art thou, be with you?
Down the road,
and always with you, I am.
Not very far,
forever is to close, being not away.
Where I may not yet, is the sea.
Waiting am I only by them to come.
To simply be.
As I am thus like you are to me.
Hello daughter,
if I may, by your leave, say hello.

Monday, February 7, 2011

My favorite quote

When there's nothing left to burn you have to set yourself on fire.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

A pretty a day

a pretty a day
(and every fades)
is here and away
(but born are maids
to flower an hour
in all,all)

o yes to flower
until so blithe
a doer a wooer
some limber and lithe
some very fine mower
a tall;tall

some jerry so very
(and nellie and fan)
some handsomest harry
(and sally and nan
they tremble and cower
so pale:pale)

for betty was born
to never say nay
but lucy could learn
and lily could pray
and fewer were shyer
than doll. doll

E.E. cummings

This is my favorite poem that i've posted so far. Read it 4 times to fully understand it.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

The Blue Bowl

This poem depicts the hardship of burying a pet, something I've recently had to experience.

Jane Kenyon

Like primitives we buried the cat
with his bowl. Bare-handed
we scraped sand and gravel
back into the hole.
                               They fell with a hiss
and thud on his side,
on his long red fur, the white feathers
between his toes, and his
long, not to say aquiline, nose.
We stood and brushed each other off.
There are sorrows keener than these.
Silent the rest of the day, we worked,
ate, stared, and slept. It stormed
all night; now it clears, and a robin
burbles from a dripping bush
like the neighbor who means well
but always says the wrong thing.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011


This one is by Jenny Joseph

 When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph

Sunday, January 23, 2011

The wind of change

The wind of change
Is rapidly coming my way
While old things become estrange
And the door is opening for a new day...

No longer hiding behind my own shadow
Or crying like a baby to the stars or the moon,
Filling up my heart, once bitter and hollow
With love and peace in this quiet afternoon...

Buried forever is my past
And the time is right for a new life...
The bare hands of destiny I grasped,
Feeling again alive and as sharp as a knife...

Now, I take nothing for granted
When I am guided by the Mighty One above,
Fully aware that I will find the one enchanted
That forever will give me her true love...