Category Archives: poetry

An old man leaning on a gate.

September 28, 2018poetry, timeage, contemplation, Mary Coleridge, rest, thinkingGretchenJoanna

FROM MY WINDOW

An old man leaning on a gate
Over a London mews — to contemplate —
Is it the sky above — the stones below?
Is it remembrance of the years gone by,
Or thinking forward to futurity
That holds him so?

Day after day he stands,
Quietly folded are the quiet hands,
Rarely he speaks.
Hath he so near the hour when Time shall end,
So much to spend?
What is it he seeks?

Whate’er he be,
He is become to me
A form of rest.
I think his heart is tranquil, from it springs
A dreamy watchfulness of tranquil things,
And not unblest.

-Mary Elizabeth Coleridge, 1861-1907

Primal moods and movements.

September 21, 2018love, poetryGeorge MacDonald, mood, perspective, Pippin photos, prayers, praying mantis, SeptemberGretchenJoanna

From George MacDonald’s year-long Diary, a few stanzas from the section “September”:

4. In the low mood, the mere man acts alone,
Moved by impulses which, if from within,
Yet far outside the centre man begin;
But in the grand mood, every softest tone
Comes from the living God at very heart—
From thee who infinite core of being art,
Thee who didst call our names ere ever we could sin.

8. Poor am I, God knows, poor as withered leaf;
Poorer or richer than, I dare not ask.
To love aright, for me were hopeless task,
Eternities too high to comprehend.
But shall I tear my heart in hopeless grief,
Or rise and climb, and run and kneel, and bend,
And drink the primal love—so love in chief?

25. Lord, loosen in me the hold of visible things;
Help me to walk by faith and not by sight;
I would, through thickest veils and coverings,
See into the chambers of the living light.
Lord, in the land of things that swell and seem,
Help me to walk by the other light supreme,
Which shows thy facts behind man’s vaguely hinting dream.

-George MacDonald, from A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul

c2e99-2012sept123

Pippin Photo

It’s that day.

September 17, 2018poetryDelta Sunflowers, Longfellow, SeptemberGretchenJoanna

The morrow was a bright September morn;
The earth was beautiful as if new-born;
There was that nameless splendor everywhere,
That wild exhilaration in the air,
Which makes the passers in the city street
Congratulate each other as they meet.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tales of a Wayside Inn

Thanks to Dewena!

Away from shadows and wilting.

September 15, 2018nature, poetryattitude, Billy Collins, celebration, clouds, joy, neighborhood, weedsGretchenJoanna

For a half hour I walked my loop bending backward to take pictures of these crazy clouds. They filled the whole sky.

After a while I thought maybe they were blending together too much to be quite as interesting, and my neck was getting tired. By then I was closer to home noticing the street view, and several unwatered lawns in the neighborhood with a cheery wildflower/weed display: