The Poet with His Face in His Hands
You want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn’t need anymore of that sound.
So if you’re going to do it and can’t
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can’t
hold it in, at least go by yourself across
the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets
like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilation and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you
want and nothing will be disturbed; you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched
by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.
~ Mary Oliver ~
Doctortayria's Blog 
February 10, 2011 at 12:36 pm |
Thanks for the Mary Oliver poem, Tayria.
I am reminded of days I’ve spent recently here on Whidbey Island preparing to return to Minnesota next week for a remembrance service on the 1st anniversary of Denise’s death.
You might want to read a remembrance piece I posted on my blog yesterday at http://www.jroneillcreativewriting.blogspot.com
Grateful for your regular postings,
Jerry
February 11, 2011 at 5:15 pm |
Jerry, I didn’t realize you have a blog. I just subscribed. I wish you every blessing in this anniversary. May the angels and helping spirits soothe all of your hearts and bring you close to your loved one on the other side of the veil. Deep blessings to you Jerry. Tayria