Category Archives: poetry

Humility

Hidden radiance, humility on the forest floor.

Clouds

Wisps of cloud dancing their last dance before the closing day.

This Day

All that is eternal in me welcomes the wonder of this day, the field of brightness it creates offering time for each thing to arise and illuminate.

John O’ Donohue

Smiling Daffodils

Do Daffodils smile? Poets say they do. Walking on the sidewalk yesterday I came across these. I stopped and watched them rocking to and fro in the wind. I detected an expression of glee in their yellow faces, and then I saw it – they were smiling.

Eternity

Poets often speak of eternity within us. I find this hard to grasp. Perhaps I’m too literal and that’s fatal when it comes to poetry. But early this morning I was walking my little dog and experienced a sudden and heightened awareness of the new day. I found myself pondering on this new day’s connection to that long chain of days that have eternally flowed like waves to the shoreline, and at that moment, felt a fleeting sense of the eternal.

Stone Walls

I saw this wall at “The Friars” a Carmelite Priory. I loved the light and the scattered leaves, but the wall seemed a little intimidating. I was reminded of a section of Robert Frost’s poem, “Mending Wall.”

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.

Robert Frost

Trees

A short poem:

Trees

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast.

Joyce Kilmer

Fire and Ice

I’ve decided, during this time of uncertainty, to learn off by heart a short poem or fragment of a poem, every second day. Here’s today’s from Robert Frost’s  “Fire and Ice.”

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favour fire.

I must say I too prefer fire, but thinking about it – give me both.

Daffodils

Yesterday, in the soft rain, I walked over to where we park our car. The sky and everything else seemed so grey – all a bit depressing. Then I saw them, pressed up against the trunk of a tree, a glorious clump of Daffodils. As I looked at them I was ushered into my day with a new sense of joy and vigour, and my mind turned to one of my favourite poets:

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;