25  April  Posted by admin
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April 23-25th Mom’s Poem a Day Challenge 2013

fullmoonAttention

 

Write a poem about attention or one that directs an especially keen attention to something around you.

 

 

Attention is the rarest

and purist form of generosity.

Simone Weil

 

For the person with attention,

every day

becomes the very day

upon which all the world depends.

Rami M. Shapiro

 

To keep the constant habit

of conscious attention

would be to master

ceaseless prayer.

jch

 

Poetry asks of us

what we yearn for deeply —

to be present in each moment.

Baron Wormser

The saddest part of being

human is not paying attention.

Presence is the gift of life.

Steven Levine

 

There are no poetic subjects

only subjects to which we pay

the right kind of attention.

Marge Piercy

 

The moon’s the same old moon,

The flowers exactly as they were,

Yet I’ve become the thingness

Of all the things I see.

Bunan (1603-1676)

 

 

 

When it is over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

Mary Oliver

from When Death Comes

 

 

Sometimes,

walking for hours through the woods,

I don’t now what I’m looking for,

maybe for something

shy and beautiful to come

frisking out of the undergrowth.

Mary Oliver

                                    from  1945-1985:

Poem for the Anniversary

 

 

Witness

Denise Levertov

 

Sometimes the mountain

is hidden from me in veils

of cloud, sometimes

I am hidden from the mountain

in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue,

when I forget or refuse to go

down to the shore or a few yards

up the road, on a clear day,

to reconfirm

that witnessing presence.

 

 

 Praying

            Mary Oliver

 

It doesn’t have to be

the blue iris, it could be

weeds in a vacant lot, or a few

small stones: just

pay attention, then patch

 

a few words together and don’t try

to make them elaborate, this isn’t

a contest but the doorway

 

into thanks, and a silence in which

another voice may speak.

————————————————————————————————-

 April 24th – Hearty Prompt

Your poem will come from the heart and talk about the heart.

 

“Wear your heart on the page, and people will read to find out how you solved being alive.” Gordon Lish

Go Deeper than Love

 

Go deeper than love, for the soul has greater depths,

love is like the grass, but the heart is deep wild rock

molten, yet dense and permanent.

Go down to your deep old heart, and lose sight of yourself.

And lose sight of me, the me whom you turbulently loved.

Let us lose sight of ourselves, and break the mirrors.

For the fierce curve of our lives is moving again to the depths

out of sight, in the deep living heart.

D.H. Lawrence

from Know Thyself, Know Thyself More Deeply)

One Heart

 

Look at the birds. Even flying

is born

 

out of nothing. The first sky

is inside you, friend, open

 

at either end of day.

The work of wings

 

was always freedom, fastening

one heart to every falling thing.

Li-Young Lee

Every morning I walk like this around

The pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart

Ever close, I am as good as dead.

Mary Oliver

from “Landscape”

 

…….Over and over

it does this, bends to what asks.

Whatever asks, heart kneels and offers to bear

Jane Hirshfield

from What the Heart Wants

 

The human heart —

That tender engine.

 

Love revs it;

Loss stalls it.

 

What can make it

Go again?

 

The poem, the poem.

Gregory Orr

 

 

The Heart as Origami

                        Jane Hirshfield

 

Each one has its shape.

For love, two sleeping ducks.

For selfless courage, the war-horse.

For fear of death, the day lily’s one-day flower.

More and more creased each year, worn paper thin,

and still it longs for them all.

Not one of the lives of this world the heart does not choose.

 

 

 

Every morning I walk like this around

The pond, thinking: if ever the doors of my heart

Ever close, I am as good as dead.

Mary Oliver

from Landscape

 

 

….Over and over

it does this, bends to what asks.

Whatever asks, heart kneels and offers to bear.

Jane Hirshfield

from What the Heart Wants

 

Poetry exists because the heart rebels

Against the suppression of its inner life

Christina Viti

 

Poetry is that

which arrives at the intellect

by way of the heart.

R.S. Thomas

———————————————————————————-

April 25th – The Moon on Center Stage

 

Write a poem in which the moon sings on center stage and is not merely part of the backdrop.

 

 

Above the quiet dock in midnight,

Tangled in the tall mast’s corded height,

Hangs the moon.  What seemed so far away

Is but a child’s balloon, forgotten after play.

T.E. Hulme

 

Scraps of Moon

Denise Levertov

 

Scraps of moon

bobbing discarded on broken water

 

but sky-moon

complete, transcending

 

all violation.

 

 

 

 

Glimpse Between Buildings

 

Now that the moon is out of a job

it has an easy climb, these nights,

finds an empty farm where a family could live,

slides over the forest—all those

million still violins before they are

carved—and follows those paths only air

ever uses.  I feel my breath follow

those aisles and stumble on the moon

deep in forest pools….

 

Moon, you old unsinkable submarine,

leaf admirer, be partly mine,

guide me tonight along city streets.

Help me do right.

William Stafford

 

 

The full moon last night,

a high, huge door,

kept asking me to knock.

 

But though I followed

in my little red car,

and my heart reached

as the moon climbed,

I got no closer.

 

Would I have been happier

home in my dark bed

without this child’s task

of chase and reach?

No way!

 

Lift, reach, laugh –

the very gesture becomes the door

while the moon face smiles down –

and yes I have knocked,

am knocking.

jch 7/13/2003

The Moon

 

At dead of night

The darkness seems to have deepened,

To the call of geese

The sky is listening; across it

Appears the passing moon.

Hitomaro

Japanese 7th century

 

When the moon sails out

the sea covers the earth

and the heart feels it is

a little island in the infinite.

Federico Garcia Lorca

Bly translation

 

Light of the moon

moves west, flowers’ shadows

creep eastward.

Buson

 

The inner tide —

what moon does it follow?

I wait for a poem.

Diane Di Prima

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