Poem of the Week

Ella participated in the county Poetry and Prose event presenting two memorized poems with confidence and grace taking me on a beautiful nature walk. Her poems are below. Another little 1st grade girl from a different school presented the last poem below with a wispy little voice and all the sweet innocence embodying this entire poem. I was transported through the beauty of earth and then on to the stars by these two beautiful little girls.

The Oak

By Maud Keary

"Dear Me, how nice this rain is," said the Oak,

"I hope at last we're in for a good soak;

My leaves were getting dusty, and my roots

felt like a tired man's toes inside his boots!" 

Cuckoo Flowers and Daisies

By Maud Keary

Cuckoo flowers and daisies

Grasses grey with dew

Sunbeams of buttercups

And a sky all blue.

Primroses and cowslips

Bluebells and sweet may,

And a cuckoo calling

Far, far away.

Forget-me-nots and cresses

In the streamlet blue,

Fly a little nearer,

Oh, Cuckoo, do!

A Stargazer's Dream

By Susan Noyes Anderson

The magic of the universe

calls out to me from every star,

beyond the moon, my dreams unfold

and carry me to worlds afar.

I am as light as fairy wings.

My soul flies gossamer and free,

across the clouds and continents,

into the midnight galaxy.

There is no end to my delight.

I twirl through every sacred part,

collecting bits of pixie dust

to glisten in my mind and heart.

And when I land, my spirit filled,

the person that I know as me

shines brighter, lit up by each flash

of fantasy and reverie.

Poem of the week

"I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough 

to make every moment holy.

I am too tiny in this world, and yet not tiny enough

just to lie before you like a thing,

shrewd and secretive.

I want my own will, and I simply want to be with my will,

as it goes toward action;

and in those quiet, hardly moving times,

when something is coming near,

I want to be with those who know secret things,

or else alone.

I want to be a mirror for your whole body,

and I never want to be blind, or too old

to hold up your heavy and swaying picture.

I want to unfold.

I don't want to stay folded anywhere,

because where I am folded, there I am a lie.

And I want my grasp of things

to be true before you. I want to describe myself

like a painting that I looked at

closely for a long time,

like a saying that I finally understood,

like the pitcher I use every day,

like the face of my mother,

like a ship

that carried me

through the wildest storm of all."

-Rainer Maria Rilke, "Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God"

Rainer Maria Rilke wrote this poem in German. Here is another translation of the same poem. I like them both.

I'm too alone in the world, yet not alone enough
to make each hour holy.
I'm too small in the world, yet not small enough
to be simply in your presence, like a thing -
just as it is.

I want to know my own will
and to move with it.
And I want, in the hushed moments
when the nameless draws near,
to be among the wise ones -
or alone.

I want to mirror your immensity.
I want never to be too weak or too old
to bear the heavy, lurching image of you.

I want to unfold.
Let no place in me hold itself closed,
for where I am closed, I am false.
I want to stay clear in your sight.

I would describe myself
like a landscape I've studied
at length, in detail;
like a word I'm coming to understand;
like a pitcher I pour from at mealtime;
like my mother's face;
like a ship that carried me
when the waters raged.

-translation by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy
(I love their translations of his poems more than most I've read. Their book, "Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God" a 100 anniversary addition, contains the German text for any of my German friends out there who love poetry.)

Merry Christmas

If
as Herod
we fill our lives with things
and again with things
if we consider ourselves so important
that we must fill every moment of our lives
with action
when will we have time
to make the long, slow journey
across the desert
as did the Magi?
Or sit and watch the stars
as did the shepherds?
Or brood over the coming of a child
as did Mary?
For each one of us
there is a desert to travel
A star to discover
And a being within ourselves to bring to life.

                                                   --- Author unknown

Poem of the Week

Hope Is The Thing With Feathers

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson