In that first hardly noticed moment in which you wake,
Continue reading “What to Remember When Waking by David Whyte”
coming back to this life from the other
more secret, moveable and frighteningly honest world
where everything began,
there is a small opening into the new day
which closes the moment you begin your plans.
She lost herself in the trees
among the ever-changing leaves.
She wept beneath the wild sky
as stars told stories of ancient times.
The flowers grew towards her light,
the river called her name at night.
She could not live an ordinary life
with the mysteries of the universe
hidden in her eyes.
When they ask you why you love the rain,
tell them it is because unlike the people who should have loved you better,
the water was never afraid to touch you;
even when you were at your most damaged and broken.
I don’t know how you are so familiar to me
Or why it feels less like I am getting to know you
and more as though I am remembering who you are.
How every smile, every whisper,
brings me closer to the impossible conclusion
that I have known you before,
I have loved you before,
In another time,
A different place,
some other existence.
Brush away old heartaches.
Learn from our mistakes.
Another year is finally over.
A new dawn awakes.
Let the old year out.
Continue reading “A New Year by John P. Read”
Welcome the new one in.
Bury the bad things of the past
As a new year now begins.
In the face of so much change,
what can I be sure of?
Rather dubious hopes,
I wave on these disillusions
in my long, useless illusion.
Time and age have given me
a different set of concerns.
I’m tired of change.
I prefer a pain that’s secure.
Vain hopes are for those
unaware of what they risk.
I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every man,
In every infant’s cry of fear, in every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear how the chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every black’ning church appeals,
And the hapless soldier’s sigh runs in blood down palace walls.
But most through midnight streets
I hear how the youthful harlot’s curse
Blasts the new-born infant’s tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
if you move carefully
through the forest
like the ones
in the old stories
who could cross
a shimmering bed of dry leaves
without a sound,
to a place
whose only task
is to trouble you
but frightening requests
conceived out of nowhere
but in this place
beginning to lead everywhere.
Requests to stop what
you are doing right now,
to stop what you
while you do it,
that can make
that have patiently
waited for you,
that have no right
to go away.
I will not die an unlived
I will not live in fear
or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my
to allow my living to open me,
Continue reading “I Will Not Die an Unlived Life by Dawna Markova”