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Category: Poetry

intricate

intricate

intricate Intricate and untraceable weaving and interweaving, dark strand with light: designed, beyond all spiderly contrivance, to link, not to entrap: elation, grief, joy, contrition, entwined; shaking, changing, forever forming, transforming: all praise, all praise to the great web. Denise Levertov, Web  

Each minute the last minute.

Each minute the last minute.

  delicate The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer. The wind blowing, the leaves shivering in the sun, each day the last day. A red salamander so cold and so easy to catch, dreamily moves his delicate feet and long tail. I hold my hand open for him to go. Each minute the last minute. Denise Levertov, Living

unspoken…..

unspoken…..

  unspoken Autumn The black moon turns away, its work done. A tenderness, unspoken autumn. We are faithful only to the imagination. What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth. What holds you to what you see of me is that grasp alone. from Denise Levertov, Everything That Acts Is Actual

the right word at the right time!

the right word at the right time!

acting with no expectations Can you coax your mind from its wandering and keep to the original oneness? Can you let your body become supple as a newborn child’s? Can you cleanse your inner vision until you see nothing but the light? Can you love people and lead them without imposing your will? Can you deal with the most vital matters by letting events take their course? Can you step back from your own mind and thus understand all things?…

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Surprise

Surprise

surprise   Expect nothing. Live frugally On surprise. become a stranger To need of pity Or, if compassion be freely Given out Take only enough Stop short of urge to plead Then purge away the need. Wish for nothing larger Than your own small heart Or greater than a star; Tame wild disappointment With caress unmoved and cold Make of it a parka For your soul. Discover the reason why So tiny human midget Exists at all So scared unwise…

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Peace

Peace

  The peace of wild things   When despair grows in me and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the…

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water !

water !

water If I were called in To construct a religion I should make use of water. Going to church Would entail a fording To dry, different clothes; My litany would employ Images of sousing, A furious devout drench, And I should raise in the east A glass of water Where any-angled light Would congregate endlessly. Philip Larkin  

awakening

awakening

  awakening Enter the turret of your love, and lie close in the arms of the sea; let in new suns that beat and echo in the mind like sounds risen from sunken cities lost to fear; let in the light that answers your desire awakening at midnight with the fire, until its magic burns the wavering sea and flames caress the windows of your tower. from Denise Levertov, The Sea’s Wash In The Hollow Of The Heart

you will greet yourself…..

you will greet yourself…..

LOVE AFTER LOVE   The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other’s welcome,   and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you   all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take…

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wondering

wondering

  wondering I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you. Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it. Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders, I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait. from Walt Whitman, Song of myself

Smile

Smile

  smile Then new events said to me, ‘Don’t move. A sublime generosity is coming towards you.’ You are the fountain of the sun’s light. I am a willow shadow on the ground. You make my raggedness silky. The soul at dawn is like darkened water that slowly begins to say Thank you, thank you. Then at sunset, again, Venus gradually Changes into the moon and then the whole nightsky. This comes of smiling back at your smile. Rumi

close enough

close enough

  close enough O world, I cannot hold thee close enough! Thy winds, thy wide grey skies! Thy mists, that roll and rise! Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff! World, World, I cannot get thee close enough! Long have I known a glory in it all, But never knew I this; Here such a passion is As stretcheth…

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Love …………..

Love …………..

in a glass darkly Though I spake with the tongues of men and angels and yet had no love, I were even as sounding brass: or as tinkling cymbal. And though I could prophesy and understood all secrets and all knowledge: yea if I had all faith so that I could move mountains out of their places and yet had no love, I were nothing. And though I bestowed all my goods to feed the poor, and though I gave…

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intricate

intricate

  intricate Intricate and untraceable weaving and interweaving, dark strand with light: designed, beyond all spiderly contrivance, to link, not to entrap: elation, grief, joy, contrition, entwined; shaking, changing, forever forming, transforming: all praise, all praise to the great web. Denise Levertov, Web  

roses in sunlight

roses in sunlight

  roses in sunlight Our sense of these things changes and they change, Not as in metaphor, but in our sense Of them. So sense exceeds all metaphor. It exceeds the heavy changes of the light. It is like a flow of meanings with no speech And of as many meanings as of men. We are two that use these roses as we are, In seeing them. This is what makes them seem So far beyond the rhetorician’s touch. Wallace…

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discovery poetry?

discovery poetry?

  wildflower   Finding a new poet is like finding a new wildflower out in the woods. You don’t see its name in the flower books, and nobody you tell believes in its odd color or the way its leaves grow in splayed rows down the whole length of the page. In fact the very page smells of spilled red wine and the mustiness of the sea on a foggy day – the odor of truth and of lying. And…

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wrought flower

wrought flower

  wrought flower   I believe the earth exists, and in each minim mote of its dust the holy glow of thy candle. Thou unknown I know, thou spirit, giver, lover of making, of the wrought letter, wrought flower, iron, deed, dream the ordinary glow of common dust in ancient sunlight. Be, that I may believe. Amen.   From Denise Levertov, Opening Words

Love, thou art high

Love, thou art high

  oddity   Love, thou are deep: I cannot cross thee. But, were there Two Instead of One — Rower, and Yacht — some sovereign Summer — Who knows, but we’d reach the Sun? Love, thou are Veiled: A few behold thee, Smile, and alter, and prattle, and die. Bliss were an Oddity, without thee, Nicknamed by God Eternity.   From Emily Dickinson, Love, thou art high