Emily Dickinson said it best: “Forever is composed of nows.”
Savior! I’ve no one else to tell— And so I trouble thee. I am the one forgot thee so— Dost thou remember me? Nor, for myself, I came so far— That were the little load— I brought thee the imperial Heart I had not strength to hold— The Heart I carried in my own— Till […]
Help me. help me, help me.
Wonder and worship are the beginning of understanding.
POEM 260 “I’m nobody! Who are you? Are you nobody, too? Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell! They ’d banish us, you know. How dreary to be somebody! How public, like a frog To tell your name the livelong day To an admiring bog!” We all have countless opportunities to nurture genius, but […]
Emily Dickinson Tell all the truth but tell it slant — Success in Circuit lies Too bright for our infirm Delight The Truth’s superb surprise As Lightning to the Children eased With explanation kind The Truth must dazzle gradually Or every man be blind — Children are inquisitive and insatiable for knowledge. This can be […]
THE LILAC IS AN ANCIENT SHRUB Emily Dickinson The Lilac is an ancient Shrub But ancienter than that The Firmamental Lilac Opon the Hill Tonight— The Sun subsiding on his Course Bequeathes this final plant To Contemplation—not to Touch— The Flower of Occident. Of one Corolla is the West— The Calyx is the Earth— […]
From The Transfiguration Edwin Muir We would have thrown our clothes away for lightness, But that even they, though sour and travel stained, Seemed, like our flesh, made of immortal substance, And the soiled flax and wool lay light upon us Like friendly wonders, flower and flock entwined As in a morning field. Was it […]
Forever – is composed of Nows – ‘Tis not a different time – Except for Infiniteness – And Latitude of Home – From this – experienced Here – Remove the Dates – to These – Let Months dissolve in further Months – And Years – exhale in Years – Without Debate – or Pause – […]
These are the days when Birds come back— A very few—a Bird or two— To take a backward look. These are the days when skies resume The old—old sophistries of June— A blue and gold mistake. Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee. Almost thy plausibility Induces my belief, Till ranks of seeds their witness […]
Be awake to others. You never know who they might turn out to be.