My Life Has Been The Poem
My life has been the poem
I would have writ,
But I could not both live
and utter it. ~ Henry David Thoreau
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Creative Writing Saturday
I am not working from my computer and I am having formatting issues. I apologize.
Wild Geese
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
~ Mary Oliver
Creative Writing Saturday
English: A red rose with dewdrops Français : Une rose rouge avec des gouttes de rosée (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Your Laughter
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lance flower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
light, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die. ~ Pablo Neruda
Creative Writing Saturday
Guit Blues (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A Good Woman Feeling Bad
The blues may be the life you’ve led
Or midnight hours in
An empty bed. But persecuting
Blues I’ve known
Could stalk
Like tigers, break like bone,
Pend like rope in
A gallows tree,
Make me curse
My pedigree,
Bitterness thick on
A rankling tongue,
A psalm to love that’s
Left unsung,
Rivers heading north
But ending South,
Funeral music
In a going-home mouth.
All riddles are blues,
And all blues are sad,
And I’m only mentioning
Some blues I’ve had. ~ Maya Angelou
seeking querencia 