by Emily Dickinson
Some keep the Sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying at home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
And an orchard for a dome.
Some keep the Sabbath in surplice;
I just wear my wings,
And instead of tolling the bell for church,
Our little sexton sings.
God preaches, — a noted clergyman, —
And the sermon is never long;
So instead of getting to heaven at last,
I’m going all along!
You can find this in the collection Hope Is The Thing With Feathers.
From “The Turn” by Rumi, found in The Essential Rumi.
Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.
by Emily Dickinson
A precious, mouldering pleasure ‘t is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,
His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.
His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;
What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;
When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,
He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.
His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.
You can find this poem and more in the collection Hope Is The Thing With Feathers.
Sorry I’m a bit late tonight! Our internet has been down all day, so Alan just drove with me to our local library so I can use theirs. We’re sitting outside in the car (since it’s now closed) and I’m enjoying being connected again.
This is a section of Rumi’s “The Turn” which you can find in The Essential Rumi.
Some nights stay up till dawn,
as the moon sometimes does for the sun.
Be a full bucket pulled up the dark way
of a well, then lifted out into light.
by Emily Dickinson
Nature, the gentlest mother,
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest,–
Her admonition mild
In forest and the hill
By traveller is heard,
Restraining rampant squirrel
Or too impetuous bird.
How fair her conversation,
A summer afternoon,–
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down
Her voice among the aisles
Incites the timid prayer
Of the minutest cricket,
The most unworthy flower.
When all the children sleep
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light her lamps;
Then, bending from the sky
With infinite affection
And infinite care,
Her golden finger on her lip,
Wills silence everywhere.
You can find this poem in Hope is the Thing With Feathers.
by Lucille Clifton
how otherwise
could i have come to this
marble spinning in space
propelled by the great
thumb of the universe?
how otherwise
could the two roads
of this tongue
converge into a single
certitude?
how otherwise
could i, a sleek old
traveler,
curl one day safe and still
beside You
at Your feet, perhaps,
but, amen, Yours.
You can find this poem in the collection Book of Light.
by David Whyte
Holding hands, we walk
to the very edge of the light,
shyly aware of the way
time radiates from
where we stand.
Our footprints behind us,
are a promise in the sand,
inscribing a joining,
a walking together,
our witness to the ocean,
and as they wait
to disappear
under the flowing tide,
the far, unknown,
and unspeakable
origin from which we came.
Then, all around us,
the felt sense of a courage
needed, a newness in the air,
a touch of the familiar
and ancient in all the tidal vows
the wind can speak,
the strands of your hair
across my face, and then,
suddenly, the sun in your eyes
and the way they closed in surprise
at the first kiss of your salt mouth.
You can find this poem in the collection The Sea in You.
by Jane Kenyon
White peonies blooming along the porch
send out light
while the rest of the yard grows dim.
Outrageous flowers as big as human
heads! They’re staggered
by their own luxuriance: I had
to prop them up with stakes and twine.
The moist air intensifies their scent,
and the moon moves around the barn
to find out what it’s coming from.
In the darkening June evening
I draw a blossom near, and bending close
search it as a woman searches
a loved one’s face.
This poem can be found in the collection Otherwise by Jane Kenyon.
by Lucille Clifton
so knowing,
what is known?
that we carry our baggage
in our cupped hands
when we burst through
the waters of our mother.
that some are born
and some are brought
to the glory of this world.
that it is more difficult
than faith
to serve only one calling
one commitment
one devotion
in one life.
You can find this poem in the collection The Book of Light.
by Eleanor Farjeon
The night will never stay,
The night will still go by,
Though with a million stars
You pin it to the sky;
Though you bind it with the blowing wind
And buckle it with the moon,
The night will slip away
Like a sorrow or a tune.
You can find this poem in Eleanor Farjeon’s Poems For Children.
Life of Kim 