Evening Poetry, May 18

Stone

by David Whyte

The face in the stone is a mirror looking into you.

You have gazed at the moving waters

you have seen the slow light, in the sky

above Lough Inagh, beneath you, streams have flowed,

and rivers of earth have moved beneath your feet,

but you have never looked into the immovability

of stone like this, the way it holds you, gives you

not a way forward but a doorway in, staunches

your need to leave, becomes faithful by going nowhere

something that wants you to stay here and look back,

be weathered by what comes to you, like the way you too

have travelled from so far away to be here, once reluctant

and now as solid and as here and as willing

to be touched as everything you have found.

You can find this poem in the collection The Bell and The Blackbird by David Whyte.

Evening Poetry, May 13

Seeing You

by David Whyte

I want you

to see

yourself

the way

I sometimes

see you.

I want you

to see

yourself

with the

self-same

eyes

that have me

shy

of telling you

what I see.

I want you

to come across

your self

and see

yourself,

the way I did

that first

morning,

as a beautiful

incredibly

kind

and inviting

stranger.

I want you

to knock

gently on

your

own door

and stand

there

astonished

as I do

unable

to speak

to the one

who has come

out to meet you.

Like Rilke’s

visiting

angel

of the

Annunciation

who forgot

his message

to Mary,

and could only

fall back

to singing

her praises,

stuttering and

everwhelmed

as he was,

by the untroubled

beauty

of her soul.

You can find this poem in the collection The Bell and The Blackbird by David Whyte.