Saturday, August 31, 2013

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Thursday 8/22/13

i thank You God for most this amazing


i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any -- lifted from the no
of all nothing -- human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e. cummings

Wednesday, August 21, 2013

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Monday, August 19, 2013

Friday, August 16, 2013

Friday 8/16/13

"The truly wise person restrains his words, and the one who stays calm is discerning."

Proverbs 17:27

Thursday, August 15, 2013

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Monday, August 12, 2013

Friday, August 9, 2013

Friday 8/9/13

slug

The slug
Slides sly
By night,

To nibble
The new
Green shoot,

To riddle
The weak
White root -

Hated
By all
But the moon,

Who smiles
On his scenes
Of crime,

And silvers
His trails
Of slime.

from all the small poems and fourteen more by Valerie Worth

Monday, August 5, 2013

Friday, August 2, 2013

Friday 8/2/13

Peonies

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open--
pools of lace,
white and pink--
and all day the black ants climb over them

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities--
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again--
beauty the brave, the exemplary,

blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?

Mary Oliver