Category: Poetry

      The moon is a sow and grunts in my throat Her great shining shines through me so the mud of my hollow gleams and breaks in silver bubbles She is a sow and I a pig and a poet When she opens her white lips to devour me I bite back and laughter rocks the moon. &nb

  Praises   I praise those things I always take for granted:- The tap my sister turns on for my bath Every time I stay, the safety pin – And who invented it? I do not know – The comb, the piece of soap, a shoe, its shine, The name tape and the string, a lea

  Oranges   Be careful of words, even the miraculous ones. For the miraculous we do our best, sometimes they swarm like insects and leave not a sting but a kiss. They can be as good as fingers. They can be as trusty as the rock you stick your bottom on. But they ca

  They brought me a quilled, yellow dahlia, Opulent, flaunting. Round gold Flung out of a pale green stalk. Round, ripe gold Of maturity, Meticulously frilled and flaming, A fire-ball of proclamation.   From Amy Lowell, Autumn

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look will easily unclose me though i have closed myself as finge

  Love there is enough magic here inside this one word to change our world forever   mountain snow lying across life's pasture a shadow reflected over stone moss forest dream man's ability to under stand nature's living need   green comet seen in the

    Don't worry about saving these songs, And if one of our instruments breaks, It doesn't matter. We have fallen, We have fallen into the place, Where everything is music... Today, like every other day, We wake up empty and frightened Don't open the door

  Love after Love The time will come when, with elation, you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror, and each will smile at the other's welcome and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. G

The  beautiful changes The beautiful changes as a forest is changed By a chameleon's tuning his skin to it; As a mantis, arranged On a green leaf, grows Into it, makes the leaf leafier, and proves Any greenness is deeper than anyone knows.   Your hands hold roses

                      Making Nothing Happen Five Poets Explore Faith and Spirituality Gavin D'Costa, University of Bristol, UK, Eleanor Nesbitt, University of Warwick, UK, Mark Pryce, Diocese of Birmingham, UK, Ruth Shelton, Director of Emmanuel House Day Centre,

The métier of blossoming   If humans could be that intensely whole, undistracted, unhurried, swift from sheer unswerving impetus! If we could blossom out of ourselves, giving nothing imperfect, withholding nothing!   From Denise Levertov, The métier of blos

    A yellow flower (Light and spirit) Sings by itself For nobody.   A golden spirit (Light and emptiness) Sings without a word By itself.   Let no one touch this gentle sun In whose dark eye Someone is awake.   (No light, no gold, no na

here’s to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap and to your(in my arms flowering so new) self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain   and here’s to silent certainly mountains;and to a disappearing poet of always, snow and to morning; and to morning’s beautiful