Thought for the day.
"A million experiences available through words."
Word for the day.
Etude= Piano student's practice piece
April is poetry month and yesterday was Poem in your pocket day. I goofed and waited until today to talk about it.
The poem I would put in my pocket was one written by Mary Oliver. It is the beginning of my book House of Memories and other Poems. It goes as follows:
I do not want to be frisky,
and theatrical.
I do not want to go forward in the
parade of names.
I do not want to be diligent or necessary
or in anyway heavy.
From my mouth to God's ear.
I swear it, I want only to be a song.
To wander around in the fields like a little
reed bird.
To be a song.
A year or two ago it was a dark, rainy night in Pinebrook. I took Annie, my sweet little puppy out to do her business. The night was so beautiful I had to write this little poem.
Rainy Night Portrait
Streetlights spangle rays
of gold
over black, wet pavement
creating a perfect
Van Gogh.
If you like poetry I would love to hear from you. Tell me your favorite poets and poems. If you write your own, how about sharing. I would love to read it.
Speaking of rain, It is again raining in beautiful Vancouver, Washington.
What a surprise. Ha. The weather man says we may have sunshine tomorrow. I wont hold my breath until that happens. However, when the news reports all the tornados across the middle of the country and snow in some places, I'm not going to complain about a little rain.
By the way I would like to thank Daniel , Brandy and Joyce H. for their comments. It is very encouraging to hear from you and know you are reading my Pinebrook news.
I like what Ellen DeGeneres says at the end of her shows and I think I I will be a copty-cat an use her message as I feel it is so important in these days.
BE KIND TO ONE ANOTHER
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I really love your poem, Joyce. You are very talented. I hardly ever write poetry, but here's one I wrote several years ago on a beautiful night when the moon was full and bright.
ReplyDeleteThe moon tonight,
A full, round orb,
Brilliant and majestic,
Rides proud and low
in the midnight sky.
Peeps through the branches
of the ancient oak tree,
Tipping its leaves with silver
and polishing the white lilies below
like lustrous pearls.
Mute and transfixed,
I gaze upward,
Knowing that I, too,
am swathed in moonlight,
My eyes aglow,
My soul, illuminated.