RED BUDS AND A POEM

 

Look, the trees

are turning their own bodies 

into pillars

of light, 

are giving off the rich 

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

the long tapers 

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

of the ponds,

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

nameless now.

Every year 

everything

I have ever learned

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

is salvation, 

whose meaning 

none of us will ever know.

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.

~Mary Oliver~

(9-10-35 - 1-17-19)

One of my all-time favorite poets. This photo was taken at Meadowlark Gardens in Vienna, Virginia in May 2009. Probably not the same time of the year that the poem is describing but this is also a favorite photo I wanted to reshare. 

Our weather over the last few days showing the highs is below.

Tuesday, May 19th - 99°F / 37°C

Wednesday, May 20th - 81°F / 27°C

Thursday, May 21st - 73°F / 23°C

Friday, May 22nd - 57°F / 14°C

Saturday, May 23rd - 55°F / 13°C

Sunday, May 24th - 69°F / 21°C

As of 5-24-26 it has been raining for the last two days, with more to follow, so no walkies for us until the sun shines again. It won't keep us inside though. I am sure we will find something to do.  

What has the weather been like in your area?

A FLOWER AND A POEM

My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird - 

equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn? 

Am I no longer young and still not half-perfect? Let me keep 

my mind on what matters, which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be

astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture,

which is mostly rejoicing, since all ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart

and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

telling them all, over and over, how it is

that we live forever.

The Messenger by Mary Oliver

 My favorite poet of all time.

The plant above is from my archives. It is the Giant Spider Lily. You can click on its name for more information.

A POEM BY MY ALL-TIME FAVORITE - A REPEAT I THINK BUT WORTH REVISITING

What can I say that I have not said before?

So I’ll say it again.

The leaf has a song in it.

Stone is the face of patience.

Inside the river there is an unfinishable story

And you are somewhere in it

And it will never end until it ends.

Take your busy heart to the art museum and the

Chamber of commerce 

But take it also to the forest.

The song you heard singing in the leaf when

You were a child

Is singing still.

I am of years lived, so far, seventy-four,

And the leaf is singing still.

“What Can I say”

by

Mary Oliver

SLEEPING IN THE FOREST…

I thought the earth remembered me, she

took me back so tenderly, arranging 

her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds. I slept

as never before, a stone

on the riverbed, nothing

between me and the white fire of the stars 

but my thoughts, and they floated

light as moths among the branches

of the perfect trees. All night

I heard the small kingdoms breathing 

around me, the insects, and the birds 

who do their work in the darkness. All night

I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling 

with a luminous doom. By morning

I had vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

~Mary Oliver~

WHAT CAN I SAY...

What can I say that I have not said before?

So I'll say it again.

The leaf has a song in it,

Stone is the face of patience,

Inside the river there is an unfinishable story

and you are somewhere in it

and it will never end until it ends.

Take your busy heart to the art museum and the 

chamber of commerce,

but take it also to the forest.

The song you heard singing in the leaf 

when you were a child

is singing still.

I am of years lived, so far, seventy-four,

and the leaf is singing still.

What Can I Say?

by

Mary Oliver

Mary Jane Oliver (September 10, 1935 – January 17, 2019) was an American poet who won the Pulitzer Prize in 1984 and the National Book Award in 1992. She found inspiration for her work in nature and had a lifelong habit of solitary walks in the wild. Her poetry is characterized by wonderment at the natural environment, vivid imagery, and unadorned language. In 2007, she was declared the best-selling poet in the United States.

HAPPY SUNDAY EVERYONE - A POEM FROM A FAVORITE

I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the riverbed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better

Sleeping in the Forest

~Mary Oliver~

DOG IN THE WINDOW

When our son came over a few days ago, he stopped at our local shopping center to pick up a coffee for his mum.  When he parked and got out of his car, he saw someone staring at him first, and then that someone looked towards the coffee shop.  I think his human was already getting their coffee and sweet dog was wondering how long they would be.  He was very calm and didn't get agitated when son said hello and took his photo. Maybe he recognized someone who loved dogs as much as we do.

I would say to his humans...

"You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion."

~Author Unknown~

I'm sure his human knows that already, he looks well-loved.

What a sweetie-pie!  Thanks for taking those photos son!  I found a few frames for him.

"Properly trained, a man can be a dog's best friend."

~Corey Ford~

And a funny for you.

“Because of the dog's joyfulness, our own is increased. It is no small gift. It is not the least reason why we should honor as well as love the dog of our own life, and the dog down the street, and all the dogs not yet born. What would the world be like without music or rivers or the green and tender grass? What would this world be like without dogs?”

~Mary Oliver~

Dog Songs: Poems

My sunshine doesn't come from the skies,

It comes from the love in my dog's eyes.

~Author unknown~

"Everyone thinks they have the best dog, and none of them are wrong."

~W. R. Purche~

IN WINTER...

In winter all the singing 

is in the tops of the trees 

where the wind-bird

with its white eyes 

shoves and pushes

among the branches 

like any of us 

he wants to go to sleep,

but he's restless - 

he has an idea

and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings

as long as he stays awake,

but his big, round music, after all

is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.

in the pine-crown 

he makes his nest,

he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,

I only imagine his glittering beak

tucked in a white wing 

while the clouds -

which he has summoned

from the north -

which he has taught

to be mild and silent -

thicken, and begin to fall

into the world below

like stars, or the feathers 

of some unimaginable bird

that loves us, 

that is asleep now, and silent - 

that has turned itself 

into snow.

White-Eyes 

by 

Mary Oliver

THE SUNFLOWERS ...

Come with me 

into the field of sunflowers.

Their faces are burnished disks,

Their dry spines

Creak like ship masts,

Their green leaves,

So heavy and many

Fill the day with the sticky

Sugars of the sun.

Come with me

To visit the sunflowers,

They are shy

But want to be friends;

They have wonderful stories

Of when they were young -

The important weather,

The wandering crows.

Don't be afraid

To ask them questions!

Their bright faces,

Which follow the sun

Will listen, and all

Those rows of seeds -

Each one a new life!

Hope for a deeper acquaintance.

Each of them, though it stands

In a crowd of many

Like a separate universe.

Is lonely, the long work

Of turning their lives

Into a celebration

Is not easy.  Come

And let us talk with those modest faces,

The simple garment of leaves,

The coarse roots in the earth

So uprightly burning.

The Sunflower by Mary Oliver

TRY NOT TO WORRY, LET THE….

 

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers

flow in the right direction, will the earth turn

as it was taught, and if not how shall

I correct it?

Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,

can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows

can do it and I am, well,

hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,

am I going to get rheumatism,

lockjaw, dementia?

Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.

And gave it up. And took my old body

and went out into the morning,

and sang.

"I worried."

~Mary Oliver~

WHOEVER YOU ARE…

 “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 again, announcing your place in the family of things.” 

~Mary Oliver~

Mary Jane Oliver (September 10, 1935 – January 17, 2019) was an American poet who won the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.  Her work is inspired by nature, rather than the human world, stemming from her lifelong passion for solitary walks in the wild. It is characterized by a sincere wonderment at the impact of natural imagery, conveyed in unadorned language. In 2007, she was declared to be the country's best-selling poet.

FAVORITES FROM MAY

 Today I am sharing a collage from last month's favorite photos.  There were many and not all are here.  It is so hard to choose a few.

"Instructions for life: pay attention.  

Be astonished.  Tell about it."

~Mary Oliver~

STARLINGS...

This poem was written by one of my favorites, Mary Oliver.  I am also sharing photos I took of Starlings.  No feats and acrobatics here but fascinating none the less.  

I enjoy studying them from where I sit with my cup of tea, and I am up and down taking photos of their antics.  There's a lot of interaction, and competing for the suet gets a bit heated at times.  Another entertaining bird.  

I know they are not everyone's cup of tea but I like them, and those black feathers with the gold flecks (“with stars in their black feathers”, as Mary so beautifully describes them) are very striking, in the sun especially.  There was not much sun shining on them this day, but they still stand out.  Just like the crows, they are welcome at our feeders.  

Starlings in Winter, from "Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays"

~Mary Oliver~

Chunky and noisy,

but with stars in their black feathers,

they spring from the telephone wire

and instantly

they are acrobats

in the freezing wind.

And now, in the theater of air,

they swing over buildings,

dipping and rising;

they float like one stippled star

that opens,

becomes for a moment fragmented,

then closes again;

and you watch

and you try

but you simply can't imagine

how they do it

with no articulated instruction, no pause,

only the silent confirmation

that they are this notable thing,

this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin

over and over again,

full of gorgeous life.

Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,

even in the leafless winter,

even in the ashy city.

I am thinking now

of grief, and of getting past it;

I feel my boots

trying to leave the ground,

I feel my heart

pumping hard. I want

to think again of dangerous and noble things.

I want to be light and frolicsome.

I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,

as though I had wings.

Thanks for visiting and enjoy your day.  I will be back on Monday.