Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

your fellow sun-worshippers
run
the world. Watch as they kneel to the sun.

~ Frank Bidart, from “The Fifth Hour of the Night” in Paris Review (Issue 229, Summer 2019)


Photo: PDX Daybreak by Jake Egbert (Mt. Hood, Portland, OR)

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

And if, as we work, we can transmit life into our work,

life, still more life, rushes into us to compensate, to be ready

and we ripple with life through the days.

D. H. Lawrence from “We are Transmitters” in The Complete Poems of D.H. Lawrence


Notes: Poem, thank you Beth @ Alive on all Channels. Photo: Mikael Aldo

Saturday Morning

With what stillness at last
you appear in the valley
your first sunlight reaching down
to touch the tips of a few
high leaves that do not stir
as though they had not noticed
and did not know you at all
then the voice of a dove calls
from far away in itself
to the hush of the morning…

~ W. S. Merwin, from “To the New Year” from Present Company


Photo: Ian Cowe (Perthshire, Scotland)

Sunday Morning

What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours.

~ Mary Oliver, from “Straight Talk from Fox” in Redbird: Poems


Notes: Poem Source – Thank you beyondthefieldsweknow.org. Photo: Michael Blann / Getty Images

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call: Begin

flames are the feathers of this bird
but I’m not calling the fire brigade
—life burns life

this is a particular bird
whose flame is multitudinous red
with flamboyant nuance:
high-frequency colorwheels thrown in
and well-played purple notes of a bass line
in its wings

—but “multitudinous” fails to tell the tale
of this bonfire bird,
a bird blown by algorithmic winds
at the keystrokes of a friend
lands blazing on my screen and sits
—this birdblaze with redgold beak
sharper than human wit

what do you say when a thing like this comes to light
which exceeds sunshine acid visions?
makes them lame

how to state the spectral luxury of this bird,
to see it, out on a limb, its satiating color
which some pure mind has wrought?

I could say, “Rufous-Backed Kingfisher”
or “Ceyx rufidorsa”

but how to really say it?
how to paint it?
how to see it?
how to hold it in mind’s eye?

don’t try, begin

~ Jim Culleny, “Begin” in 3 Quarks Daily


Notes: Photo – ACJC.S with Oriental Dwarf Kingfisher. Poem: 3QuarksDaily

Sunday Morning

You are the doubter and the doubt,
worshipping a book you can’t read.

The awful quiet in your heart
is not the peace you were promised,

not the trembling hush before a revelation,
not a prelude to an earthquake,

not God’s silence, but his breathlessness.

~ Traci Brimhall, from “Gnostic Fugue,”  from Our Lady of the Ruins

 


Photo: Noell Oszvald.  Post inspired by quote from Mindfulbalance: “In our own lives the voice of God speaks slowly, a syllable at a time. Reaching the peak of years, dispelling some of our intimate illusions and learning how to spell the meaning of life-experiences backwards, some of us discover how the scattered syllables form a single phrase.” ~ Rabbi Joshua Herschel, Between God and Man.

 

Sunday Morning

No opera, no gilded columns, no wine-dark seats…
no altos, no basses
and violins sobbing as one; no opera house,
no museum, no actual theatre, no civic center–
and what else? Only the huge doors of clouds
with the setting disc through which we leave and enter…
No masterpieces in huge frames to worship,
on such banalities has life been spent
in brightness, and yet there are the days
when every street corner rounds itself into
a sunlit surprise, a painting or a phrase,
canoes drawn up by the market, the harbour’s blue…
So much to do still, all of it praise.

~ Derek Walcott, from “No Opera” in White Egrets


Notes:

  • Poem Source – Cha Journal Blog. Image: Via Mennyfox55
  • Excerpt from “‘White Egrets” book review by Tom Payne in The Telegraph: “But some poems startle with their directness and truth; the images connect, and the ebbing tide leaves some real treasure on the beach. Among a handful of pearls is a love letter to his home, modest as Ithaca, with resonances of the poet’s life.”

Lightly child, lightly

Why is it you can have that extraordinary experience of falling violently in love with great poetry … where you are moved by its power before you comprehend it?

~ Harold Bloom, from “Harold Bloom, The Art of Criticism No. 1″ in The Paris Review (Issue 118, Spring 1991)


Notes

  • Photo: landa grazioli with poetry. Quote: Thank you Hammock Papers
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

Orange

I once watched my father peel an orange
without once removing the knife from the fruit.
He just turned and turned and turned it like a globe
being skinned. The orange peel becoming a curl,
the inside exposed and bleeding. How easily he separated
everything that protected the fruit and then passed the bowl
to my mother, dropping that skin to the floor
while the inside burst between her teeth.

~ Elizabeth Acevedo, “Things You Think While You’re Kneeling on Rice That Have Nothing to Do with Repentance” in The Poet X 


Photo: Orange Peel by Alicia D’Ors

Monday Morning Wake-Up Call

The way a deer emerges from a thicket is the opposite of a wound.

Like the moon in the morning — all firmament, beautiful, about to vanish.

Each morning I walk out my apartment & wonder what is going to become of me.

Devin Kelly, “Deer on the Side of an American Highway,” published in drDOCTOR


Photo: Fredrik Stige with “White Tailed Deer, Montana

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