primroseburrows: (torchwood: turn away)
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

...And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?

This depressing moment is brought to you by William Butler Yeats and BP.
primroseburrows: (typing)
From [ profile] aphephobia

[when you see this, post a poem in your journal.] Backtrack and look at the other poems, too.

The New Colossus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

—Emma Lazarus, 1883
primroseburrows: (group w)
30 day meme, days 6 and 7:

Apparently I'm all about combining days.

Day 6 - Whatever tickles your fancy

Okay, here's a poem... )

...and a song:

(Download here)

...and a pretty picture. )

full meme list under here )
primroseburrows: (bluenose)
This? Is pretty damn awesome:

Link via [ profile] karabou.

In other news, I think I'm getting a sore throat. Bleh.
primroseburrows: (chalice)
This was the poem used for the Opening Words at church today. I really love it, especially the wonderful way the minister recited it as an intro to the Water Communion (which next year I will definitely have water for, oh, yes I will).

Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

"learning to be astonished" is now officially a tag, and a LJ interest. :D :D
primroseburrows: (Default)
  • First of all, happy birthday, [ profile] scriggle! I hope it's been a good one with many more to come. *cheers*

  • Finally getting to a recap of how cool it was to listen to Maya Angelou talk for an hour and a half. It felt just like I was sitting around some ancient campfire listening to the village wise woman. She's got such a presence. She's confident but not arrogant, and also has a kickass sense of humour. She talked about her childhood and about people who were "Rainbows" in her life. About her "crippled" uncle Willy, who gave more to more people than most able-bodied people will ever do. How she was raped at age eight by her mother's boyfriend and that she didn't speak for years after he was found dead not long after the rape because she thought her voice could kill people, and that the reason she's so good at languages was all the listening and reading she did all that time.

    She recited two poems: the first one, A Brave and Startling Truth, written for the fiftieth anniversary of the UN.

    We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
    Whose hands can strike with such abandon
    That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
    Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
    That the haughty neck is happy to bow
    And the proud back is glad to bend
    Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
    We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

    The second was Still I Rise That was the one she closed out with.

    Does my haughtiness offend you?
    Don't you take it awful hard
    'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
    Diggin' in my own back yard.

    You may shoot me with your words,
    You may cut me with your eyes,
    You may kill me with your hatefulness,
    But still, like air, I'll rise.

    She's a remarkable woman. Seriously. And confident enough to throw height jokes at the Mayor of Providence. Not to mention butchering his name, on purpose. :)

  • I think I'll do my big post o' bullet points later and leave this the way it is, because I don't want to clutter up this beautiful poetry with all that randomness. If you get a chance, read a bunch of her poems. And her books. And especially, if you ever get the chance to see her, do it, because you'll never forget it.
primroseburrows: (chalice)
Wage peace with your breath.

Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings and flocks of red wing blackbirds.

Breathe in terrorists
and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields.

Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.

Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.

Wage peace with your listening: hearing sirens, pray loud.

Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.

Make soup.

Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages.

Learn to knit, and make a hat.

Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief
as the outbreath of beauty or the gesture of fish.

Swim for the other side.

Wage peace.

Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious:

Have a cup of tea and rejoice.

Act as if armistice has already arrived.

Don't wait another minute.
Celebrate today.

Judyth Hill - September 12, 2001
primroseburrows: (illegal)
One more poem before Poetry Month goes away for another year.

This one's the inscription on Liberty Enlightening the World (more people need to know her real name because it's v. cool IMO it's about time the the U.S. commences with some actual enlightening. Starting with ourselves, may it do ya fine.)

The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus )

Yes, I am a shameless idealist. So was Jesus.

Bigger update coming soon, unless the sky falls. I know you're all waiting with bated breath.

Tomorrow, I'd love to go here and then on to [ profile] songdog's house. Time is a factor, however. Maybe, though, if [ profile] croosa and [ profile] tapped_trish aren't moving tomorrow. If they are, I'll be helping them. *g*.

And yes, [ profile] patchfire, I'm calling several hospitals tomorrow (ON THE PHONE, y0!).
primroseburrows: (chapter one)
Since we're winding down Poetry Month before I even knew it WAS Poetry Month, I thought I'd post a few of favourite poems.

The Raven )

Two Poems by Robert Frost )

And one by Mary Stewart )


primroseburrows: (Default)

October 2014



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