By Angie
http://therer2doors-thespacebetweenwords.blogspot.com/
this ordinary day is
deceptive an
interception of
hostile components
a hailstone I ride the updraft
rising until I freeze falling
just to rise again
when cold meets hot / wall clouds form
my folly is trying to outrun the storm
Friday, June 5, 2009
"haverhill cemetery, on old 52"
By Angie http://therer2doors-thespacebetweenwords.blogspot.com/
he walked up pointing his
cane at our flowers calling
to us saying I know your
people they're good people
we're all good people 'round
here we were good kids back
then I remember we didn't do
nothing real bad just got into
fistfights yeah we stole us some
watermelons those boys could play
ball your granddaddy was a pitcher
oh he had an arm we were just kids
he said well I just buried my son
he retired then he died it don't
seem right but you know
these things happen the sun's
shining today and we're still
here tell your daddy I knew his
daddy I always remember
good people
I picked a dandelion puffed
full with seed and blew
little pieces of life grabbed the wind
they danced their way through the cemetery
they looked like angels
he walked up pointing his
cane at our flowers calling
to us saying I know your
people they're good people
we're all good people 'round
here we were good kids back
then I remember we didn't do
nothing real bad just got into
fistfights yeah we stole us some
watermelons those boys could play
ball your granddaddy was a pitcher
oh he had an arm we were just kids
he said well I just buried my son
he retired then he died it don't
seem right but you know
these things happen the sun's
shining today and we're still
here tell your daddy I knew his
daddy I always remember
good people
I picked a dandelion puffed
full with seed and blew
little pieces of life grabbed the wind
they danced their way through the cemetery
they looked like angels
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
How to Leave the World that Worships Should
By Ros Barber
Let faxes butter-curl on dusty shelves.
Let junk mail build its castles in the hush
of other people's halls. Let deadlines burst
and flash like glorious fireworks somewhere else.
As hours go softly by, let others curse
the roads where distant drivers queue like sheep.
Let e-mails fly like panicked, tiny birds.
Let phones, unanswered, ring themselves to sleep.
Above, the sky unrolls its telegram,
immense and wordless, simply understood:
you've made your mark like birdtracks in the sand -
now make the air in your lungs your livelihood.
See how each wave arrives at last to heave
Itself upon the beach and vanish. Breathe.
Let faxes butter-curl on dusty shelves.
Let junk mail build its castles in the hush
of other people's halls. Let deadlines burst
and flash like glorious fireworks somewhere else.
As hours go softly by, let others curse
the roads where distant drivers queue like sheep.
Let e-mails fly like panicked, tiny birds.
Let phones, unanswered, ring themselves to sleep.
Above, the sky unrolls its telegram,
immense and wordless, simply understood:
you've made your mark like birdtracks in the sand -
now make the air in your lungs your livelihood.
See how each wave arrives at last to heave
Itself upon the beach and vanish. Breathe.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Neither Out Far nor In Deep
Robert FrostThe people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
they turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull.
The land may vary more;
but whereever the truth may be -
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.
They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?
Sunday, May 17, 2009
The Windhover
By Gerard Manley Hopkins
I caught this morning morning’s minion, kingdom of
daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow bend: the hurl and gliding.
Rebuffed the big wing. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, - the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
I caught this morning morning’s minion, kingdom of
daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow bend: the hurl and gliding.
Rebuffed the big wing. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird, - the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!
Maundy Thursday
By Wilfred Owen
Between the brown hands of a server-lad
The silver cross was offered to be kissed.
The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad,
And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced.
(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.)
Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had’
(And kissed the body of the Christ indeed.)
Young children came, with eager lips and glad.
(These kissed a silver doll, imensely bright.)
Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte.
Above the crucifix I bent my head:
The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead:
And yet I bowed, yea kissed – my lips did cling
(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)
Between the brown hands of a server-lad
The silver cross was offered to be kissed.
The men came up, lugubrious, but not sad,
And knelt reluctantly, half-prejudiced.
(And kissing, kissed the emblem of a creed.)
Then mourning women knelt; meek mouths they had’
(And kissed the body of the Christ indeed.)
Young children came, with eager lips and glad.
(These kissed a silver doll, imensely bright.)
Then I, too, knelt before that acolyte.
Above the crucifix I bent my head:
The Christ was thin, and cold, and very dead:
And yet I bowed, yea kissed – my lips did cling
(I kissed the warm live hand that held the thing.)
I know where the summer goes
By Hannah Clare
I know where the summer goes
Out through wound down windows
In shapes of clouds, in sparks
In naked human form.
Throwing down for a moment,
Everything.
Jump into the back of the van,
Would you be scared?
I know where the summer goes
In the expression on your face
as you fall through mid air,
through smoke, through sparks
in naked human form.
Into the water
Would you be scared,
To fall through thin air?
Over linear fields where you ran
Behind light and your shadow,
In naked human form
Touches the sand.
Would you be scared
To jump into the back of the van
Throwing down for a moment,
Everything.
To fall through
Thin air
In naked human form.
http://hannahalexandraclare.blogspot.com
I know where the summer goes
Out through wound down windows
In shapes of clouds, in sparks
In naked human form.
Throwing down for a moment,
Everything.
Jump into the back of the van,
Would you be scared?
I know where the summer goes
In the expression on your face
as you fall through mid air,
through smoke, through sparks
in naked human form.
Into the water
Would you be scared,
To fall through thin air?
Over linear fields where you ran
Behind light and your shadow,
In naked human form
Touches the sand.
Would you be scared
To jump into the back of the van
Throwing down for a moment,
Everything.
To fall through
Thin air
In naked human form.
http://hannahalexandraclare.blogspot.com
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