Evening Poetry, June 11

Where Everything Is Music

by Rumi

Don’t worry about saving these songs!

And if one of our instruments breaks,

it doesn’t matter.

We have fallen into the place

where everything is music.

The strumming and the flute notes

rise into the atmosphere,

and even if the whole world’s harp

should burn up, there will still be

hidden instruments playing.

So the candle flickers and goes out.

We have a piece of flint, and a spark.

This singing art is sea foam.

The graceful movements come from a pearl

somewhere on the ocean floor.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge

of driftwood along the beach, wanting!

They derive

from a slow and powerful root

that we can’t see.

Stop the words now

Open the window in the center of your chest,

and let the spirits fly in and out.

You can find this poem and many more in The Essential Rumi.

Evening Poetry, June 10

The Swing

by Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,

Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,

Till I can see so wide,

Rivers and trees and cattle and all

Over the countryside–

Till I look down on the garden green,

Down on the roof so brown–

Up in the air I go flying again,

Up in the air and down!

You can find this poem in the collection Eloise Wilkin’s Poems to Read to the Very Young, illustrated by Josette Frank.

Evening Poetry, June 9

City

by Langston Hughes

In the morning the city

Spreads its wings

Making a song

In stone that sings.

In the evening the city

Goes to bed

Hanging lights

About its head.

You can find this poem on Favorite Poems: Old and New.

Evening Poetry, June 8

I Never Saw a Moor

by Emily Dickinson

I never saw a moor,

I never saw the sea;

Yet know I how the heather looks,

And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,

Nor visited in heaven;

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the chart were given.

You can find this poem on Favorite Poems: Old and New.

Evening Poetry, June 7

The Visit

by Jane Kenyon

The talkative guest has gone,

and we sit in the yard

saying nothing. The slender moon

comes over the peak of the barn.

The air is damp, and dense

with the scent of honeysuckle….

The last clever story has been told

and answered with laughter.

With my sleeping self I met

my obligations, but now I am aware

of the silence, and your affection,

and the delicate sadness of dusk.

You can find this poem in the collection Otherwise by Jane Kenyon.

Evening Poetry, June 6

For a New Beginning

by John O’Donohue

In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.

For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.

It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.

Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.

Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.

Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.

You can find this in To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings by John O’Donohue.

Evening Poetry, June 5

Goblin Feet

by J.R.R. Tolkien

 I am off down the road

Where the fairy lanterns glowed

And the little pretty flitter-mice are flying:

A slender band of gray

It runs creepily away

And the hedges and the grasses are a-sighing.

The air is full of wings,

And of blunders beetle-things

That warn you with their whirring and their humming.

O! I hear the tiny horns

Of enchanted leprechauns

And the padded feet of many gnomes a-coming!

O! the lights! O! the gleams! O! the little tinkly sounds!

O! the rustle of their noiseless little robes!

O! the echo of their feet—of their happy little feet!

O! their swinging lamps in the little starlit globes.

I must follow in their train

Down the crooked fairy lane

Where the coney-rabbits long ago have gone,

And where silvery they sing

In a moving moonlit ring

All a-twinkle with the jewels they have on.

They are fading round the turn

Where the glow-worms palely burn

And the echo of their padding feet is dying!

O! it’s knocking at my heart—

Let me go! O! Let me start!

For the little magic hours are all a-flying.

O! the warmth! O! the hum! O! the colours in the dark!

O! the gauzy wings of golden honey-flies!

O! the music of their feet—of their dancing goblin feet!

O! the magic! O! the sorrow when it dies.

You can find this poem in Favorite Poems Old and New.