unassorted poetry

seeping light

2010-06-29T05:21:00.000-07:00

seeping light

ripples & the pebble's ricochet
to launch is to perturb
the quiet pond,
its stillness

no withstanding the light
which seeps from within
almost imperceptibly
everywhere

no comment
will do justice
no theory will provide
no purpose is needed
light will find its way
and we are only necessary
for needing one another
-if you ask me

some silent song

2009-12-04T03:54:00.000-08:00

some silent song

when flapping you hear heavy wings
look up to see a swan fly!
be held at point-blank range
by beauty

incessant hissing: cars
low rumbles growing: planes
machinery: artillery
for building buildings, more than more

this crazy world: we crazy ones
we did forget where swans once flew
we did not heed their singing

one pale day

2009-02-09T03:26:00.000-08:00

one pale day

one pale day chasing steeples
i fell into the fjord
a sailboat passed, its people
would not take me aboard

i called their name out, to be saved
and in reply they kindly waved

and some of them did wave some more
and kindly watch me swim ashore

`come on, it was an easy swim'
they later told me in the pub
`one need not take a view so dim'
but i declined to join their club

Emily Dickinson - Heart, we will forget him

2009-02-09T03:10:00.000-08:00

In the Netherlands, it is harder than one would think to obtain a selection of Emily Dickinson's poems in English, non-translated. Of course, one has the internet, but I prefer to sit on my couch late nights, no electronics, a quiet book.

Am reading such a selection now. Inspiring. Thank you Emily. Just two poems below (you might perhaps not find them impressive, but there is something in the atmosphere of these poems that really grabs me):

XLVII

HEART, we will forget him!
You and I, to-night!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.

When you have done, pray tell me,
That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you’re lagging,
I may remember him!

LXXII

HEART not so heavy as mine,
Wending late home,
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune,—

A careless snatch, a ballad,
A ditty of the street;
Yet to my irritated ear
An anodyne so sweet,

It was as if a bobolink,
Sauntering this way,
Carolled and mused and carolled,
Then bubbled slow away.

It was as if a chirping brook
Upon a toilsome way
Set bleeding feet to minuets
Without the knowing why.

To-morrow, night will come again,
Weary, perhaps, and sore.
Ah, bugle, by my window,
I pray you stroll once more