Poetry and Massage

Meet and greet, discuss non-bodywork topics, and make new friends in the world of bodywork. A place to "let your hair down"!

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holley
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Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

19th Amendment and my mama

Post by holley » Tue Mar 24, 2020 6:39 pm

Mahogany L. Browne

I always took it for granted, the right to vote
She said
And I knew what my mother meant
Her voice constricted tightly by the flu A virus
& a 30-year-relationship
with Newport 100s
I ain’t no chain smoker
she attempts to silence my concern
only a pack a week. That’s good, you know?

My mother survived a husband she didn’t want
and an addiction that loved her more
than any human needs

I sit to write a poem about the 100 year Anniversary
of the 19th Amendment
& my first thought returns to the womb
& those abortions I did not want at first
but alas

The thirst of an almost anything
is a gorge always looking to be
until the body is filled with more fibroids
than possibilities

On the 19th hour of the fourth day in a new decade
I will wake restless from some nightmare
about a bomb & a man with no backbone
on a golf course who clicks closed his Motorola phone
like an exclamation point against his misogynistic stance
He swings the golf club with each chant
Women let me grab
Women like me
Women vote until I say they don’t

In my nightmare he is an infective agent
In the clear of day
he is just the same

Every day he breathes is a threat to this country’s marrow
For Ida & Susan & Lucretia & Elizabeth Cady

& every day he tweets grief
like a cynical cornball comic’s receipts
like a red light signaling the end of times

The final night of 2019
& my New Year’s Eve plans involves
anything that will numb the pain
of a world breaking its own heart

My mother & I have already spoken
& her lungs are croaking wet
I just want you to know I don’t feel well
& I pause to pull up my stockings beneath my crumpled smile
On this day I sigh
I just wanted to dance & drink & forget about the 61.7% votes

My silk dress falls to my knees with the same swiftness
defiant as the white feminist who said “I’m your ally”
then voted for the demise of our nation’s most ignored
underpaid, imprisoned & impoverished citizens

Every day there is a telephone near
I miss my mother
In the waiting room of the OB/GYN
Uptown bound on the dirt orange train seat of the subway
O! How my mother loves the places she can never go
Her bones swaddled with arthritis & smoke
So she relies on my daily bemoans

The train smells like yesterday, Ma
They raise the tolls & fix nothing for the people
My landlord refuses to fix my toilet, my bathroom sink, my refrigerator
The city is annoying like an old boyfriend, always buzzing about nothing
& in the way of me making it on time to the polls
This woman didn’t say thank you when I held the door
& who does she think she is?

Each time I crack & cap on the everydayness of my day
My mother laughs as if she can see the flimsy MTA card
The yellow cabs that refuse to stop for her daughter
In these moments she can live again
A whole bodied woman with a full mouth
to speak it plain

I ask my mother what hurts?
What hurts?
How can I help from here?

3000 miles away
Alone in a tower between the sea
& the Mexico borders

My mother sighs a little sigh & says
Nothing
I just wanted to hear your voice
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

I want to eat bugs with you underground

Post by holley » Thu Apr 02, 2020 10:58 am

The scientist on the radio said that humans
will survive, and, at first, I was buoyed,
but she meant only some of us, the ones
living in tunnels, eating crickets to survive
when the rest had died from mass starvation
after droughts lasted longer and seas rose faster
and wars killed bigger because everyone
wanted what little was left. I'd be fine
with being one of the billions dead unless
you were still alive. Under a down comforter
or by a trash fire, I want to be where
you are. You know how poorly I dig holes,
how angry I get when I'm cold, how twice
I've accidentally maced myself and still
you'd take me with you down into the earth,
give me more than my fair share of caterpillar.
Few believe we're in the middle of the end
because ruin can happen as slowly as plaque
blocking arteries, and only later feels as true
as your hand resting on my hip, both of us
quiet as roses waiting for the bees to arrive.
J Danho
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

1869, potato famine ireland

Post by holley » Sun Apr 05, 2020 8:02 am

“And people stayed at home
And read books
And listened
And they rested
And did exercises
And made art and played
And learned new ways of being
And stopped and listened
More deeply
Someone meditated, someone prayed
Someone met their shadow
And people began to think differently
And people healed.
And in the absence of people who
Lived in ignorant ways
Dangerous, meaningless and heartless,
The earth also began to heal
And when the danger ended and
People found themselves
They grieved for the dead
And made new choices
And dreamed of new visions
And created new ways of living
And completely healed the earth
Just as they were healed. “-Kathleen O’Mara
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Wendell Berry

Post by holley » Wed Apr 08, 2020 6:04 am

Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something
they will call you. When they want you
to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something
that won't compute. Love the Lord.
Love the world. Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace
the flag. Hope to live in that free
republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot
understand. Praise ignorance, for what man
has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest
that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested
when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus
that will build under the trees
every thousand years.
Listen to carrion - put your ear
close, and hear the faint chattering
of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world. Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable. Be joyful
though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap
for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy
a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep
of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.
Lie down in the shade. Rest your head
in her lap. Swear allegiance
to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos
can predict the motions of your mind,
lose it. Leave it as a sign
to mark the false trail, the way
you didn't go. Be like the fox
who makes more tracks than necessary,
some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Deathbed Amends

Post by holley » Wed Apr 08, 2020 4:37 pm

Long I’ve wanted to see you thrown
from a helicopter into a muttering volcano,
or have my people do things to you
with electricity and enthusiastic Alsatians,
but I never had the cash or necessary contacts
in South American governments of the nineteen seventies
to make it happen.

I contented myself with knowing
you’d one day come
because your conscience was gnawing the remains
of what, for argument’s sake,
we’ll call your soul.

I’d greet you,
once you were close enough,
with a scalding
pot of tea or cup of suspiciously warm
homemade “apple juice” across, hopefully,
the gob.

But now both you
and your conscience
can pop in to watch me cough –
though visiting hours are, naturally, restricted –
safely forgive yourself
through all that bastard glass.

K. Higgins
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Listen !

Post by holley » Fri Apr 10, 2020 2:14 pm

“For Calling the Spirit Back�From Wandering the Earth�in Its Human Feet

Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that
bottle of pop.

Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

Open the door, then close it behind you.

Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel
the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.

Give back with gratitude.

If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and
back.

Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were
a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.

Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the
guardians who have known you before time,
who will be there after time.
They sit before the fire that has been there without time.

Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.

Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people
who accompany you.
Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought
down upon them.

Don’t worry.
The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises,
interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and
those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few
years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.

Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and
leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the
thieves of time.

Do not hold regrets.

When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning
by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.

You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.

Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.

Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.

Ask for forgiveness.

Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.

Call yourself back. You will find yourself caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.

You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.
Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It will return
in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be
happy to be found after being lost for so long.

Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and
given clean clothes.

Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who
loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no
place else to go.

Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.

Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark.

© Joy Harjo. Conflict Resolution From Holy Beings. W. W. Norton & Company, 2015.�Photo credit for still: Matika Wilbur
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Maggid

Post by holley » Fri Apr 10, 2020 2:23 pm

The courage to let go of the door, the handle.
The courage to shed the familiar walls whose very
stains and leaks are comfortable as the little moles
of the upper arm; stains that recall a feast,
a child’s naughtiness, a loud blattering storm
that slapped the roof hard, pouring through.

The courage to abandon the graves dug into the hill,
the small bones of children and the brittle bones
of the old whose marrow hunger had stolen;
the courage to desert the tree planted and only
begun to bear; the riverside where promises were
shaped; the street where their empty pots were broken.

The courage to leave the place whose language you learned
as early as your own,
whose customs however dangerous or demeaning,
bind you like a halter
you have learned to pull inside, to move your load;
the land fertile with the blood spilled on it;
the roads mapped and annotated for survival.

The courage to walk out of the pain that is known
into the pain that cannot be imagined,
mapless, walking into the wilderness, going
barefoot with a canteen into the desert;
stuffed in the stinking hold of a rotting ship
sailing off the map into dragons’ mouths,

Cathay, India, Siberia, goldeneh medina
leaving bodies by the way like abandoned treasure.
So they walked out of Egypt. So they bribed their way
out of Russia under loads of straw; so they steamed
out of the bloody smoking charnelhouse of Europe
on overloaded freighters forbidden all ports—

out of pain into death or freedom or a different
painful dignity, into squalor and politics.
We Jews are all born of wanderers, with shoes
under our pillows and a memory of blood that is ours
raining down. We honor only those Jews who changed
tonight, those who chose the desert over bondage,

who walked into the strange and became strangers
and gave birth to children who could look down
on them standing on their shoulders for having
been slaves. We honor those who let go of every-
thing but freedom, who ran, who revolted, who fought,
who became other by saving themselves
-Margie Percy
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Look up

Post by holley » Sun May 10, 2020 4:27 am

“When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before
me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide
and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with
much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander' d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.”- Whitman
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Allow

Post by holley » Fri May 15, 2020 5:06 am

There is no controlling life.

Try corralling a lightning bolt,

containing a tornado. Dam a

stream and it will create a new

channel. Resist, and the tide

will sweep you off your feet.

Allow, and grace will carry

you to higher ground. The only

safety lies in letting it all in –

the wild and the weak; fear,

fantasies, failures and success.

When loss rips off the doors of

the heart, or sadness veils your

vision with despair, practice

becomes simply bearing the truth.

In the choice to let go of your

known way of being, the whole

world is revealed to your new eyes.
—Danna Faulds
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Need to know

Post by holley » Fri May 29, 2020 5:36 am

“This is what you need to know:
you need to know that otters wrap themselves
in seaweed so they won’t,
while sleeping at night, float out to sea . . .
Are you imagining this?
Can you see the otters actually doing this?
Does it break your heart a little?
Does it seduce you just a bit
into loving more
this odd hard world?
Oh otters, wrap yourselves tight! And sleep,
exactly like you do, floating but seaweed-held
in our salty living waters! Oh otters,
wrap yourselves tight! And you,
the one who doesn’t, the one who doesn’t
tether himself down right,
we are with you as you float away,
we are with you as you sleep
and lose yourself in the night.”Teddy Macker
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

If Your Child Starves

Post by holley » Thu Jun 04, 2020 1:01 pm

“If your child starves while my child
sleeps at night,
Well fed and warm, safe in his
small, white bed--
Above the shadowed streets no
silver light
Challenges man to lift his weary head.
If you must walk with sorrow,
scarred by fear,
Because your skin is brown and
mine is not,
Let sudden chaos end this evil year,
Let corn be stone, let summer
gardens rot.
But oh, my brother, should the
hounds of hate,
Nourished by narrow hearts since
time began,
Be hunted down before the hour
is late...
It could be said that here the race
of man
Rose from the darkness where the
lost winds cry
To hurl the sun against the startled
sky.”

*author - Grace Milburn
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
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Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

June

Post by holley » Sun Jun 07, 2020 10:06 am

Unification
by Ramon Montaigne

The Mississippi at its mouth
Joins the Gulf of Mexico,
The west wind mixes with the south,
High pressure with the low.
Nothing in nature stands apart,
All things rendezvous—
I'd like to mingle with you.
Intermingled, intertwined,
This is what I have in mind.
I just feel a sudden urge
To merge.
The compound that is chlorophyll
Formed as the light increases
Makes every little flower thrill
With photosynthesis.
The morning glory mingles
With the honeysuckle vine,
Come wrap your little tendrils around mine.
I've been lonely as a cloud,
Drifting miserable and proud,
Lonely as a limestone butte—
Handsome, noble, destitute,
But I need you, I confess
Let's coalesce.
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
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Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

A Brief History

Post by holley » Mon Jun 08, 2020 5:23 am

'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

99.8- Christine Weeber

Post by holley » Fri Jun 26, 2020 5:28 am

“The sea cannot know itself as yet unborn until the eye of the storm passes above its tumultuous skin, blinking.”
I remember when
lions came for the weak
and made them strong.

I remember my longing as a shattered bridge,
with shards like teeth striking into the air,
rusted-out spikes, empty holes holding sky.

What humans had made,
I could not break apart—
the skin of it covered all,
the seeping insensitivity
thorough as an eye surveilling.

Race does not provide

yet many have searched, and do, for this giving,
this aperture,
this gilded frame

an accurate representation of—

for what could be verified
in ethereal halls
could be married to human biological variation.

Linguistic references from
Carl Linnaeus to Johann Friedrich Blumenbach,
from Cecil Rhodes to Steve Bannon.

Twenty-nine races or five—
maybe 129—
chosen distinctions
from “Others,”

what one mind calls out,
marks, keen on comparison, the idol of want
in the perfectionist’s eye.

Human variation:
so many homes for “us”: here
“them”: over there.

So many apartheids: Her tin cup, plate,
silverware boxed separately,
stored under the sink—not to mix with the others.
Shame quarantined to back stairs;
violence silenced.

So few options:
Take your place at the incorrigible table of
Known::Unknown. Perfect::Defective.
Highly Evolved::Primitive.

***

Imagine the early herders
negotiating land with foragers,
the landscape sparse and worthy, never empty.

The Fertile Crescent
a surprise of human ingenuity—
domestication coming on the backs of
sheep, cattle, goats
understood in place,
seedling after seedling modeled, rooted,
their variants elongating over time. Sung to.

A place for growing:
humans, we who do not turn our backs on stability
yet are ever on the move.

The threaded generations
shifted between pastoralism, semi-agriculture,
hunting and gathering—
East African landscapes in turn
in bloom,
dormant:

the eye of a continent blinking.

Even as I peer today,
I remember how the staff felt in my hand,
mornings of dew and age,
bird calls of arrows and light,
the darting gnats.
Winds slow, cresting thigh-eased grassy hills.

Humans are not divided biologically

and the visions of those who knew
seem to have been lost
in the uprootings,
massacres,
extractions,
thefts—

what solidified as cul-de-sacs of the mind:

into distinct continental types or racial genetic clusters.

I lean in.
Has it a distinction unknown in the Levant,
in Mexico,
in the inner deserts of Australia—
on the semi-arid mesas inhabited by Ancestral Puebloans?

I want to draw into it a definition,
a boundary as distinct as an ocean shore. For what’s available,
we lean,
we persist in leaning in, knowing: fight or flight or freeze.
The hierarchy of assumed natures of “Man”—

the Western concept of race must be understood as
a classification system
that emerged from, and in support of,
European colonialism, oppression, and discrimination.

Race thus does not have its roots in biological reality
but in policies of discrimination.

***

As sand wisps across an expanse
riddled by ridges,
terrain atlatls or bows or fishhooks or trails story,
where creeks burble from underwater passageways,
where storm flashes across rounded huts—or those
leaning and half-buried—
skyscrapers, adobe apartments,
prefabs
dotting each continent,

out of its eye
We can be born.

Beyond the treacherous anchors of time,
the near-genocide crowns claimed,
the demonic passages and violent echoes of slavery,
the howling emptiness of Germany’s wake,
the DRC’s heaving,
racism’s many wounds: horrors beyond imagination
but not, no: as real as scars thick beyond recognition—

unveil,
reckon with.

The eye blinking:
the necessity and blessing
of our diversity.

All humans living today belong to a single species,

Homo sapiens:



I await your voices—
Sing us whole
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

some people

Post by holley » Wed Jul 15, 2020 1:07 pm

The visible and the in-
by Marge Piercy
Some people move through your life
like the perfume of peonies, heavy
and sensual and lingering.
Some people move through your life
like the sweet musky scent of cosmos
so delicate if you sniff twice, it’s gone.
Some people occupy your life
like moving men who cart off
couches, pianos and break dishes.
Some people touch you so lightly you
are not sure it happened. Others leave
you flat with footprints on your chest.
Some are like those fall warblers
you can’t tell from each other even
though you search Petersen’s.
Some come down hard on you like
a striking falcon and the scars remain
and you are forever wary of the sky.
We all are waiting rooms at bus
stations where hundreds have passed
through unnoticed and others
have almost burned us down
and others have left us clean and new
and others have just moved in.
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Second Chance

Post by holley » Tue Jul 21, 2020 8:11 am

Dawn Revisited
by Rita Dove

Imagine you wake up
with a second chance: The blue jay
hawks his pretty wares
and the oak still stands, spreading
glorious shade. If you don’t look back,
the future never happens.
How good to rise in sunlight,
in the prodigal smell of biscuits –
eggs and sausage on the grill.
The whole sky is yours
to write on, blown open
to a blank page. Come on,
shake a leg! You’ll never know
who’s down there, frying those eggs,
if you don’t get up and see.
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
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Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

The Thing Is

Post by holley » Wed Jul 22, 2020 6:08 am

The Thing Is
by Ellen Bass

to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
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Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

MARY OLIVER

Post by holley » Mon Aug 03, 2020 6:44 pm

WHEN I AM AMONG THE TREES

When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

"Everything is waiting for you"

Post by holley » Mon Aug 31, 2020 7:00 pm

Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice. You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into the
conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you. -David White
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

The Well of Grief

Post by holley » Tue Sep 01, 2020 5:01 am

The Well of Grief
Those who will not slip beneath the still surface on the well of grief,
turning down through its black water to the place we cannot breathe
will never know the source from which we drink
the secret water, cold and clear,
nor find in the darkness glimmering
the small round coins,
thrown by those who wished for something else.
-David Whyte
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Joy

Post by holley » Fri Sep 18, 2020 6:40 am

“Who could need more proof than honey—

How the bees with such skill and purpose
enter flower after flower
sing their way home
to create and cap the new honey
just to get through the flowerless winter.

And how the bear with intention and cunning
raids the hive
shovels pawful after pawful into his happy mouth
bats away indignant bees
stumbles off in a stupor of satiation and stickiness.

And how we humans can't resist its viscosity
its taste of clover and wind
its metaphorical power:
don't we yearn for a land of milk and honey?
don't we call our loved ones "honey?"

all because bees just do, over and over again, what they were made to do.

Oh, who could need more proof than honey
to know that our world
was meant to be

and

was meant to be
sweet?“
-Staub
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Merwin

Post by holley » Mon Oct 19, 2020 6:17 pm

The New Song
by W. S. Merwin

For some time I thought there was time
and that there would always be time
for what I had a mind to do
and what I could imagine
going back to and finding it
as I had found it the first time
but by this time I do not know
what I thought when I thought back then

there is no time yet it grows less
there is the sound of rain at night
arriving unknown in the leaves
once without before or after
then I hear the thrush waking
at daybreak singing the new song
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Merwin

Post by holley » Mon Oct 19, 2020 6:17 pm

The New Song
by W. S. Merwin

For some time I thought there was time
and that there would always be time
for what I had a mind to do
and what I could imagine
going back to and finding it
as I had found it the first time
but by this time I do not know
what I thought when I thought back then

there is no time yet it grows less
there is the sound of rain at night
arriving unknown in the leaves
once without before or after
then I hear the thrush waking
at daybreak singing the new song
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Love Me ?

Post by holley » Thu Nov 05, 2020 9:21 am

The Loneliest Job in the World
by Tony Hoagland

As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me?,
you are completely screwed, because
the next question is How Much?,

and then it is hundreds of hours later,
and you are still hunched over
your flowcharts and abacus,

trying to decide if you have gotten enough.
This is the loneliest job in the world:
to be an accountant of the heart.

It is late at night. You are by yourself,
and all around you, you can hear
the sounds of people moving

in and out of love,
pushing the turnstiles, putting
their coins in the slots,

paying the price which is asked,
which constantly changes.
No one knows why.
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

holley
Registered Member
Posts: 2282
Joined: Tue Oct 05, 2004 10:19 pm
Location: MNPLS, MN

Finish it

Post by holley » Fri Nov 13, 2020 5:26 am

You Must Change Your Life
by Richard Terrill

what you always
did don't do
write with the wrong
hand
write with the left
side of the brain

breast stroke not side
schubert not brahms

play the changes
for a change
listen to the piano
not the bass
skip the extra chorus

requite love
death's a hunch
start over
skip lunch

ignore the voices
you first heard long ago
telling you someone else
got more than you
someone else got better

that nightly scotch
make it two or none
make it bourbon or gin
don't begin
anything you can't finish

you who always changed each line
you who always changed
each line you

who never finished anything
'Every Day is a god, each day a goddess and holiness pours forth in time."

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