Everywhere I look I see my fate.
In the subway. In a stone.
On the curb where people wait for the bus in the rain.
In a cloud. In a glass of wine.
When I go for a walk in the park it's a sycamore leaf.
At the office, a dull pencil.
In the window of Woolworth's my fate looks back at me
through the shrewd eyes of a dusty parakeet.
Scrap of newspaper, dime in a handful of change,
down what busy street do you hurry this morning,
an overcoat among overcoats,
with a train to catch, a datebook full of appointments?
If I called you by my name would you turn around
or vanish round the corner,
leaving a faint odor of orange-flower water,
tobacco, twilight, snow?
I know him, that man
walking- toward me up the crowded street
of the city, I have lived with him
seven years now, I know his fast stride,
his windy wheatfield hair, his hands thrust
deep in his jacket pockets, hands
that have known my body, touched
its softest part, caused its quick shudders
and slow releasings, I have seen his face
above my face, his mouth smiling, moaning
his eyes closed and opened, I have studied
his eyes, the brown turning gold at the centers,
I have silently watched him lying beside me
in the early morning, I know his loneliness,
like mine, human and sad,
but different, too, his private pain
and pleasure I can never enter even as he comes
closer, past trees and cars, trash and flowers,
steam rising from the manhole covers,
gutters running with rain, he lifts his head,
he sees me, we are strangers again,
and a rending music of desire and loss —
I don't know him — courses through me,
and we kiss and say, It's good to see you,
as if we haven't seen each other in years
when it was just a few hours ago,
and we are shy, then, not knowing
what to say next.
Shivering, knowing how lines of the tide
use seaweed, and sea-drift, and sea-touch (and bone)
to etch with, I wait to be marked on the sand
(a dragged sag of rockweed, a bulbed grace undone),
moved each way like feathers, slipped slow like a hand,
or whitened past breath. I’ve been moved till I’m gone
and nothing is ready to hold me inside—
following gull-shadows back over the land,
hiding myself. But there’s no place to hide,
whitening my hair in the wind or at dawn;
seagulls are whitening too, and they mourn,
turning and turning.
mrs. miggins in her hideaway
will rise to greet another day
put out the dog
and read this morning's news
she's too young to be bitter
too old to be cool
what is a lady like that to do?
mrs. miggins in her reverie
is not the way she seems to be
call in the dog
and forget this morning's blues
she's a bird that can twitter
not once she's been fooled
what is a lady like that to do?
she could have been the sweet on the arm of a dandy
if she took the chance
she could have been as good or should i say randy
as any social at the social dance
mrs. miggins and her coffee cup
drinks it down and fills it up
could have had cream
but those bills are overdue
she's the sweetest of candy
for those lads back in school
what is a lady like that to do
SONG FOR THE LUDDITES
By
Lord Byron
December 24, 1816 ( First published 1830 )
1
As the liberty lads o'er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Will die fighting, or live free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd !
2
When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding sheet
O'er the despot at our feet,
And dye it deep in the gore he has poured.
3
Though black as his heart its hue,
Since his veins are corrupted to mud,
Yet this is the dew
Which the tree shall renew
Of Liberty, planted by Ludd !
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold
This World
by Mary Oliver
from Her Writings
"Why I Wake Early'
I would like to write a poem about the world that has in it
nothing fancy.
But it seems impossible.
Whatever the subject, the morning sun
glimmers it.
The tulip feels the heat and flaps its petals open and becomes a star.
The ants bore into the peony bud and there is a dark
pinprick well of sweetness.
As for the stones on the beach, forget it.
Each one could be set in gold.
So I tried with my eyes shut, but of course the birds
were singing.
And the aspen trees were shaking the sweetest music
out of their leaves.
And that was followed by, guess what, a momentous and
beautiful silence
as comes to all of us, in little earfuls, if we’re not too
hurried to hear it.
As for spiders, how the dew hangs in their webs
even if they say nothing, or seem to say nothing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe they sing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe the stars sing too,
and the ants, and the peonies, and the warm stones,
so happy to be where they are, on the beach, instead of being
locked up in gold.
~ Mary Oliver ~
(Why I Wake Early)
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold
Amor Fati by Katha
)
Amor Fati
by Katha Pollitt
Everywhere I look I see my fate.
In the subway. In a stone.
On the curb where people wait for the bus in the rain.
In a cloud. In a glass of wine.
When I go for a walk in the park it's a sycamore leaf.
At the office, a dull pencil.
In the window of Woolworth's my fate looks back at me
through the shrewd eyes of a dusty parakeet.
Scrap of newspaper, dime in a handful of change,
down what busy street do you hurry this morning,
an overcoat among overcoats,
with a train to catch, a datebook full of appointments?
If I called you by my name would you turn around
or vanish round the corner,
leaving a faint odor of orange-flower water,
tobacco, twilight, snow?
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
After this decade this 19th
)
After this decade this 19th century poem can't be any more poignant today to reflect our desires.
Ring out the old, ring in the new
by Lord Alfred Tennyson
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the love that is to be.
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold
JOYOUS NEW DECADE ALL! A
)
JOYOUS NEW DECADE ALL!
A poem that grabbed my attention a while back.
Chance Meeting
by Susan Browne
I know him, that man
walking- toward me up the crowded street
of the city, I have lived with him
seven years now, I know his fast stride,
his windy wheatfield hair, his hands thrust
deep in his jacket pockets, hands
that have known my body, touched
its softest part, caused its quick shudders
and slow releasings, I have seen his face
above my face, his mouth smiling, moaning
his eyes closed and opened, I have studied
his eyes, the brown turning gold at the centers,
I have silently watched him lying beside me
in the early morning, I know his loneliness,
like mine, human and sad,
but different, too, his private pain
and pleasure I can never enter even as he comes
closer, past trees and cars, trash and flowers,
steam rising from the manhole covers,
gutters running with rain, he lifts his head,
he sees me, we are strangers again,
and a rending music of desire and loss —
I don't know him — courses through me,
and we kiss and say, It's good to see you,
as if we haven't seen each other in years
when it was just a few hours ago,
and we are shy, then, not knowing
what to say next.
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
Found in a cat food
)
Found in a cat food dish
If you had more fur
and were closer to the floor
I’d almost trust you
– Gail White
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold
Gulls at Todd’s
)
Gulls at Todd’s Point
Shivering, knowing how lines of the tide
use seaweed, and sea-drift, and sea-touch (and bone)
to etch with, I wait to be marked on the sand
(a dragged sag of rockweed, a bulbed grace undone),
moved each way like feathers, slipped slow like a hand,
or whitened past breath. I’ve been moved till I’m gone
and nothing is ready to hold me inside—
following gull-shadows back over the land,
hiding myself. But there’s no place to hide,
whitening my hair in the wind or at dawn;
seagulls are whitening too, and they mourn,
turning and turning.
Annie Finch
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold
What Is A Lady Like That To
)
What Is A Lady Like That To Do?
mrs. miggins in her hideaway
will rise to greet another day
put out the dog
and read this morning's news
she's too young to be bitter
too old to be cool
what is a lady like that to do?
mrs. miggins in her reverie
is not the way she seems to be
call in the dog
and forget this morning's blues
she's a bird that can twitter
not once she's been fooled
what is a lady like that to do?
she could have been the sweet on the arm of a dandy
if she took the chance
she could have been as good or should i say randy
as any social at the social dance
mrs. miggins and her coffee cup
drinks it down and fills it up
could have had cream
but those bills are overdue
she's the sweetest of candy
for those lads back in school
what is a lady like that to do
(2010 db michel)
SONG FOR THE LUDDITES By
)
SONG FOR THE LUDDITES
By
Lord Byron
December 24, 1816 ( First published 1830 )
1
As the liberty lads o'er the sea
Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood,
So we, boys, we
Will die fighting, or live free,
And down with all kings but King Ludd !
2
When the web that we weave is complete,
And the shuttle exchanged for the sword,
We will fling the winding sheet
O'er the despot at our feet,
And dye it deep in the gore he has poured.
3
Though black as his heart its hue,
Since his veins are corrupted to mud,
Yet this is the dew
Which the tree shall renew
Of Liberty, planted by Ludd !
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold
CROWS From a single grain
)
CROWS
From a single grain they have multiplied.
When you look in the eyes of one
you have seen them all.
At the edges of highways
they pick at limp things.
They are anything but refined.
Or they fly out over the corn
like pellets of black fire,
like overlords.
Crow is crow, you say.
What else is there to say?
Drive down any road,
take a train or an airplane
across the world, leave
your old life behind,
die and be born again—
wherever you arrive
they'll be there first,
glossy and rowdy and indistinguishable.
The deep muscle of the world.
Copyright © Mary Oliver
Currently reading 'Crow Planet' by Lyanda Lynn Haupt.
Essential Wisdom from the Urban Wilderness
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold
What People Give
)
What People Give You
Long-faced irises. Mums.
Pink roses and white roses
and giant sunflowers,
and hundreds of daisies.
Fruit baskets with muscular pears,
and water crackers and tiny jams
and the steady march of casseroles.
And money,
people give money these days.
Cards, of course:
the Madonna, wise
and sad just for you,
Chinese cherry blossoms,
sunsets and moonscapes,
and dragonflies for transcendence.
People stand by your sink
and offer up their pain:
Did you know I lost a baby once,
or My eldest son was killed,
or My mother died two months ago.
People are good.
They file into your cartoon house until it bows at the seams;
they give you every
blessed
thing,
everything,
except your daughter back.
What People Give You
by Kathleen Sheeder Bonanno
"We must be the change we wish to see."
Mahatma Gandhi
This World by Mary Oliver
)
This World
by Mary Oliver
from Her Writings
"Why I Wake Early'
I would like to write a poem about the world that has in it
nothing fancy.
But it seems impossible.
Whatever the subject, the morning sun
glimmers it.
The tulip feels the heat and flaps its petals open and becomes a star.
The ants bore into the peony bud and there is a dark
pinprick well of sweetness.
As for the stones on the beach, forget it.
Each one could be set in gold.
So I tried with my eyes shut, but of course the birds
were singing.
And the aspen trees were shaking the sweetest music
out of their leaves.
And that was followed by, guess what, a momentous and
beautiful silence
as comes to all of us, in little earfuls, if we’re not too
hurried to hear it.
As for spiders, how the dew hangs in their webs
even if they say nothing, or seem to say nothing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe they sing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe the stars sing too,
and the ants, and the peonies, and the warm stones,
so happy to be where they are, on the beach, instead of being
locked up in gold.
~ Mary Oliver ~
(Why I Wake Early)
There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. - Aldo Leopold