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LIFE
CIRCLE
Inside the woman, a little
girl sighs.
clouds sliding
raindrop starts to fall
falling, falling on its’ long descent
touching down on a green leaf
shaking
it rolls
until it drops again and
kisses - the earth;
silently greeting
its’
mother again.
WINTER
Stepping into
cutting clean icy bath no care;
drinking deeply refreshed,
renewed
shivering and swimming in cold
air
I am born again and again.
By Stone Pencil
Masks
Born just to die
who are you
who am I?
Just a mask
a disguise...
or something more?
My Mom loved poety. She passed away not too long ago, but her love of life and poetry will remain with me forever.
The following are a couple of her favorites, and mine too...
ETERNITY IN AN HOUR
To see a World in a grain of sand,
And
a Heaven in a wild flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And Eternity in an hour....
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has
left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright....
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing
for the soul divine;
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine....
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a
babe in Eternity....
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar
Are
waves that beat on Heaven's shore....
He who doubts from what he sees
Will
ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the Sun and Moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out....
God appears, and God is Light,
To those
poor souls who dwell in Night;
But does a Human Form display
To those who dwell in realms of Day.
WILLIAM BLAKE
If
If
you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men
doubt you But make allowance for their doubting too, If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't
deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If
you can dream—and not make dreams your master, If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet
with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted
by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn–out
tools:
If
you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it all on one turn of pitch–and–toss, And lose, and start
again at your beginnings And never breath a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve
your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: “Hold
on!”
If
you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving
friends can hurt you; If all men count with you, but none too much, If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds'
worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!
—Rudyard Kipling, 1910
 
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