Sunday Morning

Angels unaware

Angels are wonderful but they are so, well, aloof.
It’s what I sense in the mud and the roots of the
trees, or the well, or the barn, or the rock with
its citron map of lichen that halts my feet and
makes my eyes flare, feeling the presence of some
spirit, some small god, who abides there.

If I were a perfect person, I would be bowing
continuously.
I’m not, though I pause wherever I feel this
holiness, which is why I’m so often late coming
back from wherever I went.

Forgive me.

~ Mary Oliver, “Forgive Me” in Blue Horses


Sources: Poem – Thank you Whiskey River. Photo – Lichen by Mathieu Noël

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When Eve walked (among them)

of course…

When Eve walked among
the animals and named them –
nightingale, red-shouldered hawk,
fiddler crab, fallow deer –
I wonder if she ever wanted
them to speak back, looked into
their wide wonderful eyes and
whispered, Name me, name me.

Ada Limón, “A Name” in The Carrying: Poems (August 14, 2018)


Ada Limón, 42, is an American poet. She was a finalist for the 2015 National Book Award in Poetry.  In an interview by Suzannah Windsor in April 21, 2014 in Compose Journal, Ada Limón: “My grandfather on my father’s side was from San Juan de los Lagos, Mexico. He crossed the border as a child in 1917 after his family’s land was confiscated by Pancho Villa’s troops during the Mexican revolution. I was not raised in a bilingual family. My grandfather rarely spoke Spanish even. He worked hard to assimilate into U.S. culture, growing…

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Now has come, an easy time

 

Now has come, an easy time. I let it roll. There is a lake somewhere
so blue and far nobody owns it.
A wind comes by, and a willow listens gracefully.

I hear all this, every summer…
That lake stays blue and free; it goes on and on.

And I know where it is.


thank you, David Kanigan

Quote: William Stafford, from “Why I Am Happy” in Early Morning: Remembering My Father, William Stafford by Kim Stafford 

Photo: Marie Lalanne Manzor

the gift of starting over

thank you, David Kanigan

And we want to live right where black oaks lived,
Once very quietly and still…
Because we are imperfect and love so
Deeply we will never have enough days,
We need the gift of starting over, beginning
Again: just this constant good, this
Saving hope.

~ Nancy Shaffer, from Because We Spill Not Only Milk from Instructions in Joy 


Notes – Poem: Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels. Photo: Franz Wallner with Black Oak

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