Friday, April 14, 2017

Spirit



Cantico del Sole
BY EVAN KENNEDY 

let through praise while cycling
—a hill or shop to match you—
the shining bay
the foggy gray
beneath all names and phrases


let through praise while working
—a bird or book to watch you—
the formal sun
the queerer ones
lifting their heads to face you


let through praise while flirting
—a storm or song to patch you—
the iced-down bruise
the new black shoes
and all the things that make you


let praise through earthly city
—a sibling glad to catch us—
the blameless meek
the faceless deep
please mind your house and graces

Nothing Is Far
BY Robert Francis

Though I have never caught the word
Of God from any calling bird,
I hear all that the ancients heard.

Though I have seen no deity
Enter or leave a twilit tree,
I see all that the seers see.

A common stone can still reveal
Something not stone, not seen, yet real.
What may a common stone conceal?

Nothing is far that once was near.
Nothing is hid that once was clear.
Nothing was God that is not here.

Here is the bird, the tree, the stone.
Here in the sun I sit alone
Between the known and the unknown.




The Turning Tree

BY Allen Grossman

This to be beautiful to you 
Set against all this you know of 
So ominous, set against it, 
Overcome, might overcome. 
This to be beautiful, beautiful, 
Never alone enough with God 
Never enough among fountains 
This be beautiful Spring blue. 
Leaf love you for this the while 
I am with you and the while after 
This earth I am standing on, the 
Herons and smaller birds possess. 
This to be beautiful to you 
The downward fire I spoke of 
The eel grass, the snowy path, 
The wide shore, the wide shore. 
Speak of it, speak it, unceasing, all 
These lines to the tomb, O turning tree, 
Set against all this you know of 
Overcome, will, overcome. 
Grave tree of the dark plowland under, 
I will will the whole time to you: 
Falling water, wave falling, dew 
Dust, horses, spirits, Spirit.


The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
 and I wake in the night at the least sound
 in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
 I go and lie down where the wood drake
 rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
 I come into the peace of wild things
 who do not tax their lives with forethought
 of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
 And I feel above me the day-blind stars
 waiting with their light. For a time
 I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.









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