how glorious
to be made
of small things,
the light passes
through us,
even in the shade
we shine, we glow
silently to eyes,
so made of waves,
like fields of grass,
the finest soil,
and those in which
the oceans rise.
how glorious
to be made
of small things,
the light passes
through us,
even in the shade
we shine, we glow
silently to eyes,
so made of waves,
like fields of grass,
the finest soil,
and those in which
the oceans rise.
I found this to be a very serene piece of poetry FF. One which I could stop and consider in the midst of all the rush around me (getting ready for work). Especially liked the waves passing over fields of grass. Sigh... will think about this on a jam packed train!
I used to be a Feminist ©? But now I just shut up and take it
Seems to be saying everything and nothing at the same time. You know how you put 'hooks' on people to remember them by? My hook for you is that I got an excited message, probably some time back now, that firefangled is back. It was from Prince. Have seen over and over since then why he was excited enough to tell me.
For those who believe,
no explanation is necessary.
For those who do not,
none will suffice.
It brings to mind the likely recent discovery of the Higgs Boson, the so called "God Particle". A tiny thing indeed, but something that accounts for the mass of everything.
humanish
waves in which the oceans rise is a breathtaking an image. The whole poem, like whatever you write, awakes worlds, changes the way of looking, hearing, grasping... it humbles; and indeed, it's wonderful 'to be made of small things'. Your words reminded me of San Francesco d'Assisi...
Also, this quotation I found in my notes, but forgot whose it is (perhaps you know?):
“light reaching the world reveals, without hurting.
That which lives refracts it, that which lies, absorbs it.”
Thanks for reading and commenting friends.
Munkin: I am aware of the Higgs Boson. What I love about our explorations is that everytime we think we have abstractly captured the core, the prime particle or wave, the truth, and/or "God," the universe explodes around us, inside its invisible and incredible world.
Jerry: Ancient civilizations knew of all the things we know, in different ways, other realities, other worlds, the lines of the world that connected everything.
My poem celebrates the mystery of how we are. It's good to know the latest science of our bodies, of the universe, but it is equally necessary to hold the mystery for me. It does often seem we know everything and nothing at once.
Delta: I feel the same way about those things we can find to slow things down. For me I gotta get out of town and go somewhere where there are no cars, no sirens.
Bar: I don't know where those lines come from. I like the thought though. There is a poem by William Stafford called "A Ritual to Read to Each Other:" http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-rit...to-each-other/
I think you will like it.
Just the thought that occurred to me! This poem is so - I wouldn't say "slight" but seemingly so light that one almost doesn't see it! But it has a"half-life" that is weightier than many longer poems.Originally Posted by munkinhead
Bless your talent - and the delight you must or ought to take in exercising it. And I second Bar's appreciation of
like fields of grass,
the finest soil,
and those in which
the oceans rise.
I know and love this poem by Stafford very much. And it supports so beautifully the quotation I offered. Thank you for sharing with us your brilliant, yet so humble, a mind, Fire.
Prince -Thanks for reading and commenting. Yes, I was hoping it would be as small and light as those elements and particles that make the immensity around us
Bar: Stafford's Ritual is one of my favorite poems of all time for what it addresses, very appropriate for these times when gray seems to be a the color that governs so much of what we try and live by.
Who are you? And how do you do this?
I'm in love with The Vinegar Man and Mr. Tanner, but be careful, it could just as easily be you.
"If you're going to write you better have somewhere to come from." Flannery O'Connor
This really is a good one ff.
J
I adore this poem. I absolutely adore it. It's the type of poem you have to say aloud slowly, just to taste it.
“There would be no one there to live for her during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistance with which men and women believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.”
Kate Chopin, The Awakening
I agree with Sarah, to say it slowly, to revel in it...
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