Saturday, April 05, 2008
Emily Dickinson - Spring Poems
A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here
A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That silence cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.
It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.
Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:
A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Seek Not My Heart
by Kit McCallum
Oh gentle winds 'neath moonlit skies,
Do not you hear my heartfelt cries?
Below the branches, here about,
Do not you sense my fear and doubt?
Side glistening rivers, sparkling streams,
Do not you hear my woeful screams?
Upon the meadows, touched with dew,
Do not you see my hearts a'skew?
Beneath the thousand twinkling stars,
Do not you feel my jagged scars?
Seek not my mournful heart kind breeze,
For you'll not find it 'mongst these trees.
It's scattered 'cross the moonlit skies,
Accompanied by heartfelt sighs.
It's drifting o're the gentle rain,
A symbol of my silent pain.
It's buried 'neath the meadow fair,
Conjoined with all the sorrow there.
It's lost among the stars this night,
Too far to ease my quiet fright.
No gentle winds, seek not my heart,
For simply ... it has torn apart.
Friday, April 06, 2007
In the days of my youth, when the heart's in its spring,
And dreams that Affection can never take wing,
I had friends! - who has not? - but what tongue will avow,
That friends, rosy wine! are so faithful as thou?
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Home for Christmas Break
After all, the Earth must wait for spring.
No angel ever changed the pace of time.
Goodness is still tucked away below,
Empty as a field asleep in snow,
Like iron in the harshness of that clime
As God is born in frozen Bethlehem.
Now off to other things - some day I may begin to really use this site and post my own stuff. For now it is break time!
Sunday, November 26, 2006
At least that is the knowledge of my heart.
Screaming like a child, you would beat us
Until you snapped, and then the tears would start.
"You know I love you," you would cry, demanding
More of us through tears than with your fist.
And we, through tears, would nod our understanding,
Too bullied in our pain to dare resist.
Yet now that you've been dead for many years,
And I have wandered through my own vast hell,
I see the desperate anguish in your tears
And hope at last that I can love you well.
For only in my love can your love be
The love that once, I think, you had for me.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Finals at Kzoo College
What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
black, with hoarse note curse the sons of joy. Nor his accepted
brethren whom, tyrant, he calls free; lay the bound or build the
roof. Nor pale religious letchery call that virginity, that
wishes but acts not!
For every thing that lives is Holy