How Did the rose Ever open its heart And give this world All its Beauty? It felt the encouragement of light Against its Being, Otherwise, We all remain Too Frightened — Hafez Read more →
EppsNet Archive: Poetry
Good Morning Midnight
Good Morning—Midnight— I’m coming Home— Day—got tired of Me— How could I—of Him? Sunshine was a sweet place— I liked to stay— But Morn—didn’t want me—now— So—Goodnight—Day! I can look—can’t I— When the East is Red? The Hills—have a way—then— That puts the Heart—abroad— You—are not so fair—Midnight— I chose—Day— But—please take a little Girl— He turned away! — Emily Dickinson Read more →
The Pearl
A raindrop, dripping from a cloud, Was ashamed when it saw the sea. ‘Who am I when there is a sea?’ it said. When it saw itself with the eye of humility, A shell nurtured it in its embrace. — Saadi of Shiraz Read more →
One Last Goodbye
We spread Lightning‘s ashes at Huntington Dog Beach this weekend. We didn’t make a big production of it — it’s probably illegal, for one thing — but we hiked out to the end of the rock pier and gave him back to the sea. The Dog Beach and the Irvine Dog Park were the places he was at his best — off-leash and able to be his dominant alpha pug self. For example, here’s a (blurry) photo of him assassinating a puggle who carelessly but intentionally blindsided him at the dog park: Lightning wrote a poem he wanted us to read when we spread his ashes. I think he plagiarized it, to be honest . . . he wasn’t much of a poet but we loved him . . . I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened… Read more →
The Things We Have That Go
It was a spring that never came; But we have lived enough to know That what we never have, remains; It is the things we have that go. — Sara Teasdale, St. Louis poetess, who drowned herself many years ago, circa 1933 Or as Jesus used to say, “For he that hath, to him shall be given: and he that hath not, from him shall be taken even that which he hath.” Read more →
2 Weeks
Sometimes I feel I know how the story ends But I go through the motions anyways And try to forget — Arlene Kim Suda, “2 Weeks” Read more →
For My Daughter
When I die choose a star and name it after me that you may know I have not abandoned or forgotten you. You were such a star to me, following you through birth and childhood, my hand in your hand. When I die choose a star and name it after me so that I may shine down on you, until you join me in darkness and silence together. — David Ignatow, “For My Daughter” Read more →
Jesus at Gethsemane
For those not familiar with the story: Jesus knows he’s going to die. He prays to God for help in the garden of Gethsemane, at the Mount of Olives. But there is no answer. If it is true that in the sacred Garden of the Scriptures, The Son of Man said what we see reported; Mute, blind and deaf to the cry of all creatures, If Heaven abandons us like an aborted world, The just will oppose disdain to this absence, And will answer from now on with only cold silence The eternal silence of the Divinity. — –Alfred de Vigny, “Le Mont des Oliviers” Read more →
Fight
That is the difference between me and you. You pack an umbrella, #30 sun goo And a red flannel shirt. That’s not what I do. I put the top down as soon as we arrive. The temperature’s trying to pass fifty-five. I’m freezing but at least I’m alive. Nothing on earth can diminish my glee. This is Florida, Florida, land of euphoria, Florida in the highest degree. You dig in the garden. I swim in the pool. I like to wear cotton. You like to wear wool. You’re always hot. I’m usually cool. You want to get married. I want to be free. You don’t seem to mind that we disagree. And that is the difference between you and me. — Laurel Blossom Read more →
Shut Not Your Doors to Me Proud Libraries
Shut not your doors to me, proud libraries, For that which was lacking among you all, yet needed most, I bring; A book I have made for your dear sake, O soldiers, And for you, O soul of man, and you, love of comrades; The words of my book nothing, the life of it everything; A book separate, not link’d with the rest, nor felt by the intellect; But you will feel every word, O Libertad! arm’d Libertad! It shall pass by the intellect to swim the sea, the air, With joy with you, O soul of man. — Walt Whitman, “Shut Not Your Doors to Me Proud Libraries” Read more →
January
Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derision outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am bound more to my sentences the more you batter at me to follow you. And the wind, as before, fingers perfectly its derisive music. — William Carlos Williams, “January” Read more →
A Man’s a Man For A’ That
What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man’s a Man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that; The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor, Is king o’ men for a’ that. — Robert Burns, “A Man’s a Man For A’ That” Read more →
Overheard (Samuel T. Coleridge Edition)
HIM: Sir Leoline, the Baron rich– Hath a toothless mastiff bitch– HER: Which. HIM: I beg your pardon. HER: Which, not bitch. HIM: We’ll look it up. Read more →
“Nature” is What We See
“Nature” is what we see— The Hill—the Afternoon— Squirrel—Eclipse—the Bumble bee— Nay—Nature is Heaven— Nature is what we hear— The Bobolink—the Sea— Thunder—the Cricket— Nay—Nature is Harmony— Nature is what we know— Yet have no art to say— So impotent Our Wisdom is To her Simplicity. Read more →
How Can You Ever Be Sure?
I asked how can you ever be sure that what you write is really any good at all and he said you can’t you can’t you can never be sure you die without knowing whether anything you wrote was any good if you have to be sure don’t write — W.S. Merwin, “Berryman” Read more →
Abeyance
Guess what, Dad and I finally figured out Pandora, and after all those years of silence, our old music fills the air. It fills the air, and somehow, here, at this instant and for this instant only —perhaps three bars—what I recall equals all I feel, and I remember all the words. — Rebecca Foust, “Abeyance” Photo by Siderola Read more →
All Joy Wants Eternity
O man, take care! What does the deep midnight declare? “I was asleep— From a deep dream I woke and swear:— The world is deep, Deeper than day had been aware. Deep is its woe— Joy—deeper yet than agony: Woe implores: Go! But all joy wants eternity— Wants deep, wants deep eternity. — Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra Read more →
e e cummings wishes you a happy fathers day
my father moved through dooms of love through sames of am through haves of give, singing each morning out of each night my father moved through depths of height this motionless forgetful where turned at his glance to shining here; that if (so timid air is firm) under his eyes would stir and squirm newly as from unburied which floats the first who, his april touch drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates woke dreamers to their ghostly roots and should some why completely weep my father’s fingers brought her sleep: vainly no smallest voice might cry for he could feel the mountains grow. Lifting the valleys of the sea my father moved through griefs of joy; praising a forehead called the moon singing desire into begin joy was his song and joy so pure a heart of star by him could steer and pure so now and now so… Read more →
Summer Triptych
1. The world is water to these bronzed boys on their surfboards, riding the sexual waves of Maui like so many fearless cowboys, challenging death on bucking broncos of foam. 2. On the beach at Santorini we ate those tiny silverfish grilled straight from the sea, and when the sun went down in the flaming west there was applause from all the sated diners, as if it had done its acrobatic plunge just for them. 3. Swathed from head to toe in seeming veils of muslin, the figure in the Nantucket fog poles along the shoreline on a flat barge. It could be Charon transporting souls across the River Styx, or just another fisherman in a hoodie, trolling for bluefish on the outgoing tide. — Linda Pastan, “Summer Triptych” Read more →
Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. — W. B. Yeats, “Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven” Read more →