Even thought I'm going slightly crazy, I still have time to read poetry. These days it's Mary Oliver's work that graces my nightstand. I've been thinking a lot about the poem "I Happen to Be Standing," in which Oliver meditates on her morning ritual with a notebook. The poem begins this way:
I Happened to be Standing
I don't know where prayers go,
or what they do.
Do cats pray, while they sleep
half-asleep in the sun?
Does the opossum pray as it
crosses the street?
The sunflowers? The old black oak
growing older every year?
You can hear Oliver talk about this poem and others in this NPR interview.
Do you have a morning ritual? Do you say prayers at night, in the morning, or whenever the urge hits you? These are the things I'm thinking of and want to write about. Won't you join me? Leave me a note about your poem and I'll share the results in time for Poetry Friday.
Great topic. I was just searching this morning for poems about giving thanks and will enjoy reading whatever follows here this week. Here's a poem inspired by a walk around a condo community my family and I lived in for a year while getting settled in a city I had, until then, not really enjoyed.
ReplyDeleteCONDOMINIUM WINDOWS AT NIGHT
Blessings to you in your soft white kitchen,
and to you in the next one over,
synchronized women
pouring water,
spreading butter,
washing hands.
Blessings to you, shirtless man,
placing your white, white towel
on its hook beside two other
white, white towels.
I'm sorry you saw me watching,
but I was walking my dog, looking up,
and your window shone.
Blessings to you of the darkened room and
tall bed shadowed blue with evening
news.
And to you of the incandescent
Christmas tree in early November.
And to you sitting alone at the ornate table.
Blessings to you of brown couch and bare feet,
stretched legs mingled with white poodle.
And to the sleeping poodle, too,
blessings.
Blessings.
© 2010 Stephanie Parsley
Not Every Day A Poem: A Prayer
ReplyDeleteNot every day a poem, Lord,
but one good line,
as we pray for strength
to do one good deed.
Not every day a plot, Lord,
but a strong, solid twist,
and the will to take one step
after the next.
Not every day a story, Lord,
but the hope things
will turn out right,
not happy ever after,
just happy for today
and its one new poem.
© 2012 Jane Yolen all rights reserved
Oh, wow, Stephanie and Jane--lovely stuff!
ReplyDeleteNo Prayer But Human
ReplyDeleteBy Steven Withrow
I like to think no other mammals pray:
masked raccoons and bounding white-tailed deer,
those luckless ones too often struck at curbs.
No prayer but the human kind, and not to say
those creatures sense no source, or feel no fear,
but rather that their every act disturbs
the equitable slumbers of the day,
the blank, unbiased turnings of the year.
They need not speak—their lives the strongest verbs.
© 2012 Steven Withrow, all rights reserved
Beautiful, Steven. I love "the blank, unbiased turnings of the year."
ReplyDeleteHere's my quick first thoughts on my weekday mornings:
Coffee, coffee, coffee
Rush, rush, rush,
Remember to be kind,
Coffee, coffee, coffee,
Rush, rush, rush,
Take a minute to unwind!
I love Mary Oliver, Tricia! Good pick. Happy T-Day to all. Here's my poem:
ReplyDeleteSongs
I sing in the shower, songs
I learned as a child in church.
Words rise with the steam,
then up through the ceiling,
past the sky to the ears of God.
“I think the world is glorious!”
I sing, my voice made grand
by the small walls of the shower.
My day made better because
I remember who made the day,
made me, made all.
—Kate Coombs, 2012
all rights reserved
BEFORE SCHOOL
ReplyDeleteI wake up to being licked
By Zeus my Persian cat.
My brother's still asleep
I say, "Time to get up Matt."
It's the first day of school
With my teacher Mr. Kyle.
I can't help to harness
My wall to wall smile.
Because Ame Livingston will
Now be in my class.
She's smart, strong, pretty,
She's a sassy sassafras.
Soggy sugared cereal
My favorite thing to eat.
I hand some to my pug Ramon
For his breakfast treat.
Matt says "You go first"
As we shuffle out the door.
Which is cool of him,
He's never been that nice before.
As we sit in Mom's car, ready
For the morning drive
I look outside my window
Happy to be alive.
(c) Charles Waters 2012 all rights reserved