Friday, May 20, 2022

What woke me up today



Sometimes the mountain
is hidden from me in veils
of cloud, sometimes
I am hidden from the mountain
in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue,
when I forget or refuse to go
down to the shore or a few yards
up the road, on a clear day,
to reconfirm
that witnessing presence.

by Denise Levertov


Awake Awhile

It does not have to be Forever,

Right Now.

One Step upon the Sky's soft skirt

Would be enough.

by Hafiz



Waking today

just before winter

when I try to name the color of grasses,

how I feel of their beauty,

there is no word.

I think of the time before there were 


when you would know morning mist 

by the feel

of your loved one's skin and hair,

and when someone came from the forest 

of dry leaves

you would know by their scent

even if they carried no wood.

Or the heat of their body skin in summer.

Or if they came the winding way

down from the mountains

they would be covered in cloud

returning to the fold

or if they had gone farther, to the ocean,

you'd know them by their far-seeing eyes,

and when some travelers return

and are shining with light

you know, without saying, that they

have been

in touch with other worlds.

I have no wealth to speak of

other than this,

all this, just to praise the dry grasses

and their color that can't be spoken

in words.

by Linda Hogan



NewRobin13 said...

Love hearing the frogs and watching the videos. The poems are beautiful too.

Sabine said...

What lovely sounds and views you have around you!

The Waterboys are sitting in front of Spiddal House, a country house dating back to the early 19th century in Co. Galway. About eight or nine years earlier, I walked up to the windows and tried to peek inside. We were in Spiddal waiting for lift to bring us to the ferry port for a boat to Inishmore, one of the Aran Islands. It was raining. The guy who had promised to drive us there was delivering dairy products to shops along the way and we had to wait for him in every town and village. The Waterboys didn't exist then.
The village of Spiddal has always been famous for its lively traditional music scene.

Joared said...

What lovely words, sights and sounds.

37paddington said...

A beautiful trio of poems, reminding me to be mindful of the natural world, and myself in it. Thank you.