Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overheadScribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,Let the traffic policemen… Read More »Funeral blues
I walked a mile with Pleasure;She chatted all the way;But left me none the wiserFor all she had to say. I walked a mile with Sorrow,And ne’er a word said she;But, oh! The things I learned from her,When sorrow walked with me. [Robert Browning Hamilton] About the author Robert Browning Hamilton was an American writer… Read More »Along the road
Don’t ask, it’s wrong to know,what fates the gods us bestow. Don’t seek for answers in stars divine,endure and let your heart align. Winters come, or this our last,waves against the rocks are cast. Pour your wine, drink it slow,let your hopes ebb and go. Time flows as we speak,seize today, tomorrow’s far and bleak.… Read More »Carpe Diem (Ode on Fate, Horace 1:11)
Resist loss of the miraculousby lowering your standardsfor what constitutes a miracle. It is all a fucking miracle. Resume the facethe desolate facethe radiant facethe face that has become your own. Though all your life you have resisted it. (Louise Erdrich, Advice to myself #2: Resistance)
The river flows, a winding pathFrom mountain peak to ocean vastCarving canyons, shaping stoneSeeking, always, the unknown Daring leaps off jagged cliffsMist rising as the water shiftsChurning currents, froth and roarRolling boulders, grinding shore Peaceful stretches, languid plainsLazy loops with gentle refrainsSunbeams dance on ripples brightHerons wade in the sparkling light Forests green the mossy… Read More »The river
The time will comewhen, with elation,you will greet yourself arrivingat your own door, in your own mirror,and each will smile at the other’s welcome, and say, sit here. Eat.You will love again the stranger who was your self.Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heartto itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your… Read More »Love After Love
From here, oh,you can hold yourself,so you can laugh. Free to exploreall manner of things. When you’re here,an i in the O-cean,you’re no longer waitingfor something to happen or to change. When you’re hereyou have what you seek. Your heart opensto the gift you receive,that you are. You are drinking at the wellof being you… Read More »The well of being (excerpt)
In the depths of your mind, memories take flight,Like butterflies dancing in the soft morning light.Their wings, adorned with colours so bright and true,Paint the story of your life in every hue. Through thoughts and emotions, they gently flutter,Leaving golden threads that bind and stutter.The tapestry of your existence, woven with care,Each memory a stitch,… Read More »Memories are like butterflies
This being human is a guest house.Every morning, a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness,some momentary awareness comesas an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them allEven if they’re a crowd of sorrows,who violently sweep your houseempty of its furniture,still, treat each guest honourablyHe may be clearing you outfor some new delight. The dark… Read More »The guest house
The work of happiness I thought of happiness, how it is wovenOut of the silence in the empty house each dayAnd how it is not sudden and it is not givenBut is creation itself like the growth of a tree.No one has seen it happen, but inside the barkAnother circle is growing in the expanding… Read More »The Work of Happiness by May Sarton
