Posts filed under ‘.poetry’

The Redwoods

Poem by Joseph P. Strauss


Art by Alice Shaw

Here, sown by the Creator’s hand.
In serried ranks, the Redwoods stand:
No other clime is honored so,
No other lands their glory know.

The greatest of Earth’s living forms,
Tall conquerors that laugh at storms;
Their challenge still unanswered rings,
Through fifty centuries of kings.

The nations that with them were young,
Rich empires, with their forts far-flung,
Lie buried now-their splendor gone:
But these proud monarchs still live on.

So shall they live, when ends our days,
When our crude citadels decay;
For brief the years allotted man,
But infinite perennials’ span.

This is their temple, vaulted high,
And here, we pause with reverent eye,
With silent tongue and awestruck soul;
For here we sense life’s proper goal:

To be like these, straight, true and fine,
to make our world like theirs, a shrine;
Sink down, Oh, traveler, on your knees,
God stands before you in these trees.

Strauss Poems

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July 20, 2019 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Je suis comme je suis

de Jacques Prévert

Je suis comme je suis
Je suis faite comme ça
Quand j’ai envie de rire
Oui je ris aux éclats
J’aime celui qui m’aime
Est-ce ma faute à moi
Si ce n’est pas le même
Que j’aime chaque fois
Je suis comme je suis
Je suis faite comme ça
Que voulez-vous de plus
Que voulez-vous de moi

Je suis faite pour plaire
Et n’y puis rien changer
Mes talons sont trop hauts
Ma taille trop cambrée
Mes seins beaucoup trop durs
Et mes yeux trop cernés
Et puis après
Qu’est-ce que ça peut vous faire
Je suis comme je suis
Je plais à qui je plais
Qu’est-ce que ça peut vous faire
Ce qui m’est arrivé
Oui j’ai aimé quelqu’un
Oui quelqu’un m’a aimée
Comme les enfants qui s’aiment
Simplement savent aimer
Aimer aimer…
Pourquoi me questionner
Je suis là pour vous plaire
Et n’y puis rien changer

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July 10, 2019 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

For the Children

by Gary Snyder

The rising hills, the slopes,
of statistics
lie before us.
The steep climb
of everything, going up,
up, as we all
go down.

In the next century
or the one beyond that,
they say,
are valley, pastures,
we can meet there in peace
if we make it.

To climb these coming crests
one word to you, to
you and your children:

stay together
learn the flowers
go light

July 6, 2019 at 2:25 pm Leave a comment

A July Day

by Eben Eugene Rexford

In idle mood, this happy day,

I let the moments drift away;

I lie among the tangled grass

And watch the crinkling billows pass

O’er seas of clover. Like a tide

That sets across the meadow wide,

The crimson-crested ripples run

From isles of shade to shores of sun;

And one white lily seems to be

A sail upon this summer sea,

Blown northward, bringing me, to-day,

A fragrant freight from far Cathay.

Low as the wind that waves the rose

In gardens where the poppy grows,

And sweet as bells heard far away,

A robin sings his song to-day;

Sings softly, by his hidden nest,

A little roundelay of rest;

And as the wind his dwelling swings

He dreams his dream of unfledged wings,

While, blending with his song, I hear

A brook’s low babble, somewhere near.

A glory wraps the hills, and seems

To weave an atmosphere of dreams

About the mountain’s kingly crest

As sinks the sun adown the west.

Earth seems to sit with folded hands

In peace he only understands

Who has no care, no vain regret,

No sorrow he would fain forget,

And like a child upon her breast

I lie, this happy day, and rest.

The ” green things growing ” whisper me

Of many an earth-old mystery;

Of blossoms hiding in the mold,

And what the acorn-cups enfold;

Of life unseen by eyes too dim

To look through Nature up to Him

Who writes the poem of the year

For human heart, and eye, and ear.

O summer day, surpassing fair,

With hints of heaven in earth and air,

Not long I keep you in my hold —

The book is closed — the tale is told.

The valley fills with amber mist;

The sky is gold and amethyst.

Soft, soft and low, and silver clear

The robin’s vesper hymn I hear,

And see the stars lit, one by one.

The happy summer day is done.

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July 1, 2019 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

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June 19, 2019 at 8:25 pm 1 comment

To See The World In A Grain Of Sand…

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May 20, 2019 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

Norwegian Forest Cat

caught among branches

fog descends the trunk headfirst

one foot at a time

The Maine Coon’s Haiku: and Other Poems for Cat Lovers
by Michael J. Rosen
Illustrated by Lee Anthony White

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May 13, 2019 at 8:25 pm Leave a comment

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