i'm not the riverI'm not the river that powerful presence. And I'm not the black oak tree which is patience personified. And I'm not redbird who is a brief life heartily enjoyed. Nor am I mud nor rock nor sand which is holding everything together. No, I am none of these meaningful things, not yet. from Blue Horses by Mary Oliver
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This fiery summer, my mother is dying Because the streams are too shallow And warm. There is nowhere For my mother to rest and hide From the sun and heat and predators. Experts warn that my mother Will go extinct in certain bodies of water As the earth grows hotter and hotter. Yes, my mother will soon be the last Mother to perish in this sacred river. My mother will be mourned by the trees, And diver birds and hungry grizzlies. There will be nothing left to deliver Other than centuries of eulogies. from You Don't Have to Say You Love Me by Sherman Alexie
His mother tells him that as a child she walked across the Spokane River on the backs of salmon. As a child I remember standing on the banks of the Kalama watching salmon swimming upstream to spawn, so thick that you could have easily imagined crossing the river on their backs. POEMS BY ANNE SPENCER Dunbar Ah, how poets sing and die! Make one song and Heaven takes it; Have one heart and Beauty breaks it; Chatterton, Shelley, Keats and I- Ah, how poets sing and die! Epitome Once the world was young For I was twenty and very old and you and I knew all the answers What the day was, how the hours would turn One dial was there to see Now the world is old and I am still young For the young know nothing, nothing. Rime for the Christmas Baby He'll have rings and linen things, And others made of silk; True, some sort of merit in a mart Where goods are sold for money, But packed with comfort is the heart That shares with you what's funny; So please kiss him when he's very bad And laugh with him in gladness, - Life is too long a way to go, And age will bring him sadness... Pray you for unceasing springs, Swelling deep in pard'n That into twin lives may grow Time's unfading garden. God never planted a garden
But He placed a keeper there; And the keeper ever razed the ground And built a city where God cannot walk at the eve of day, Nor take the morning air. IF A LEMON If a lemon Kissed a beet Is it sour Or is it sweet If a bear Gives A hug Will it turn Into a rug And then there's me And there is you I do sometimes wonder What will we do from Chasing Utopia by Nikki Giovanni
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Marnielifelong traveler, Archives
May 2020
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