Hours
I have known hours built like cities,
House on grey house, with streets between
That lead to straggling roads and trail off,
Forgotten in a field of green;
Hours made like mountains lifting
White crests out of the fog and rain,
And woven of forbidden music—
Hours eternal in their pain.
Life is a tapestry of hours
Forever mellowing in tone,
Where all things blend, even the longing
For hours I have never known.
~ Hazel Hall
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
~ Max Ehrmann, Copyright 1952.
If You Forget Me
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
~ Pablo Neruda
Jennifer W. Shared this on my FB page. A little confession: when I first took the quiz I got Maya Angelou. After three more times: Pablo Neruda. While I do at times enjoy Maya Angelou I just didn’t see her as my poetry BFF!
Take the quiz and let me know who your poetry BFF is!
You Shall Be My Roots
You shall be my roots and
I will be your shade,
though the sun burns my leaves.
You shall quench my thirst and
I will feed you fruit,
though time takes my seed.
And when I’m lost and can tell nothing of this earth
you will give me hope.
And my voice you will always hear.
And my hand you will always have.
For I will shelter you.
And I will comfort you.
And even when we are nothing left,
not even in death,
I will remember you.
~ Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves
That’s right, it is everyone’s favorite, Tax Day Limericks!! Let’s lighten the mood a little shall we?
Those with delicate spam blockers or delicate sensibilities may choose (or may have it chosen for them) not to continue.
The limerick is furtive and mean;
You must keep her in close quarantine,
Or she sneaks to the slums
And promptly becomes
Disorderly, drunk and obscene.
– Morris Bishop
There was a young man of Cape Horn,
Who wished he had never been born,
Nor would he have been
If his father had seen
That the end of the rubber was torn.
– Algernon Charles Swinburn(?) (1837-1909)
There was a young lady of Louth,
Who returned from a trip in the South;
Her father said: ‘Nelly,
There’s more in your belly
Than ever went in at your mouth’
– Norman Douglas (1868-1952)
For travellers going sidereal,
The danger, they say, is bacterial.
I don’t know the pattern
On Mars, or on Saturn
But on Venus it must be venereal.
– Robert Frost
A man from the Washington Post,
Once had it off with a ghost;
At the height of orgasm,
The pale ectoplasm
Shrieked: ‘Coming! I’m coming . . . almost!’
– Anthony Burgess
There was a young maid of Peru,
Who swore she never would screw,
Except under stress
Of forceful duress,
Like: ‘I’m ready. How about you?’
– Isaac Asimov
A taxi-cab whore out at Iver
Would do the round trip for a fiver
– Quite reasonable too,
For a sightsee, a screw,
And a ten-shilling tip for the driver.
– Victor Gray
There was a young lady of fashion,
Who had oodles and oodles of passion;
To her lover she said,
As they climbed into bed:
‘Here’s one thing the bastards can’t ration.’
– Anon.
There was a young girl, very sweet,
Who thought sailors’ meat quite a treat.
When she sat on their lap
She unbuttoned their flap,
And always had plenty to eat.
1944-1952
And shared by Jim G (April 2014):
There once was a man from Siberia,
Whose morals were rather inferior!
He done to a nun,
What none should have done,
And now she’s a Mother Superior!
And shared by Michele (April 2012):
There was a young lady of Chichester
Who made all the saints in their niches stir.
One morning at matins
Her breasts in white satins
Made the Bishop of Chichester’s britches stir.
Time Passes
Time too is afraid of passing, is riddled with holes
through which time feels itself leaking.
Time sweats in the middle of the night
when all the other dimensions are sleeping.
Time has lost every picture of itself as a child.
Now time is old, leathery and slow.
Can’t sneak up on anyone anymore,
Can’t hide in the grass, can’t run, can’t catch.
Can’t figure out how not to trample
what it means to bless.
~ Joy Ladin
A Song From The Suds
Queen of my tub, I merrily sing,
While the white foam raises high,
And sturdily wash, and rinse, and wring,
And fasten the clothes to dry;
Then out in the free fresh air they swing,
Under the sunny sky.
I wish we could wash from our hearts and our souls
The stains of the week away,
And let water and air by their magic make
Ourselves as pure as they;
Then on the earth there would be indeed
A glorious washing day!
Along the path of a useful life
Will heart’s-ease ever bloom;
The busy mind has no time to think
Of sorrow, or care, or gloom;
And anxious thoughts may be swept away
As we busily wield a broom.
I am glad a task to me is given
To labor at day by day;
For it brings me health, and strength, and hope,
And I cheerfully learn to say-
‘Head, you may think; heart, you may feel;
But hand, you shall work always!’
~ Louisa May Alcott
What is True
one must be one
to ever be two
and if you
were a day
I’d find a way
to live
through you
~ Ben Kopel
Poetry in Theatre!
Syracuse folks ~ Celebrate National Poetry Month by going to The RedHouse this weekend!
Belle of Amherst is a delightful one woman show written by William Luce.
April 10 & 11 @ 8pm $25 for non members $15 for members
Based on the life of poet Emily Dickinson from 1830 to 1886 and set in her Amherst, Massachusetts home. The play makes use of her work, diaries, and letters to recollect her encounters with the significant people in her life – family, close friends, and acquaintances. It balances the agony of her seclusion with the brief bright moments when she was able to experience some joy.
