Showing posts with label mary oliver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mary oliver. Show all posts

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Kangeiko Poetry, Friday 1/15/2010

Prescription for the Disillusioned


Come new to this day.

Remove the rigid overcoat of experience,

the notion of knowing,

the beliefs that cloud your vision.


Leave behind the stories of your life.

Spit out the sour taste of unmet expectations.

Let the old,

almost forgotten scent of what-if

drift back into the swamp

of your useless fears.


Arrive curious,

without the armor of certainty,

without the planned results for the life

you’ve imagined.


Live the life that chooses you,

new with every breath,

new with every blink of

your astonished eyes.


— Rebecca del Rio




The Journey


One day you finally knew what you had to do.

And began.

Though the voices around you

kept shouting their bad advice.


Though the whole house began to tremble

and you felt the old tug at your ankles.

“Mend my life,” each voice cried.


But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do.


Though the wind pried

with its fingers

at the very foundations.

Though their melancholy was terrible.


It was already late enough.

And a wild night.

And a road full of fallen branches

and stones.


But little by little

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds.


And there was a new voice

that you slowly recognized as you own

which kept you company

as you strolled deeper and deeper into the world.


Determined to do the only thing you could do.

Determined to save the only life you could save.


— Mary Oliver

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Kangeiko Poetry, Thursday 1/14/2010

The mystery cannot be answered

By repeating the question

Nor can it be bought

By going to amazing places.


Not until the eye and desires

Have been stilled for many years,

Not until then,

Can I cross over from confusion.


— Rumi



Wild Geese


You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.


Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.


Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.


Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.


Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.


— Mary Oliver