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Invictus

Moni — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 23:52:46 +0000

Invictus

Invictus (Photo credit: KTVee)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

(my co-worker shared this with me awhile ago and I loved it so I thought I would share it with you.)

The Big Dipper

Moni — Fri, 23 Sep 2011 19:45:50 +0000

The breeze sweeps through the window,

awakening me. I look through the open blinds

and can see the stars.

Tonight they are bright and clear.

Sleepily, I see the Big Dipper and

am reminded of when I was 9 years old and I

slept outside on hot summer nights.

I would always look for the North Star first

and when I found North Star I would draw

an imaginary line down the sky

until I found the star

that was the upper right corner of the ladle.

Then, with my eyes, I would connect the dots

to make the ladle and,

as it became clearer,

I connected the three stars

of the handle. Then there it was,

The Big Dipper,

appearing to me clear as day.

After I found it, got that task out of the way,

I would hunt for other constellations.

Sometimes I would see satellites

and shooting stars,

if I was lucky.

One of those hot Summer evenings

when I had a sleepover

my friend Holly instructed that the

stars are very old,

thousands of years, and that it takes that long

for the light to get to earth

and by the time I was seeing the light

of the star it was already dead.

I had no idea if this was true

but was fascinated

and thought about it

as I stared up into the stars

and drifted off to sleep.

The letter

Moni — Thu, 12 May 2011 17:25:09 +0000

I originally posted the finished version of the poem I was working out in the photo above on Flickr. Then I lost my nerve and deleted it. And then I felt weak and stupid for losing my nerve. So I’m posting it here, for your entertainment and enjoyment (or judgment. whatever.).

A letter to my grandmother, found in her desk.

A Pantoum.

I’m getting along as well as can be expected.
It was such an awful shock to me.
Charlie went so sudden.
He had been feeling fine.

It was such an awful shock to me.
He went out that morning at 5:30 to sweep snow.
He had been feeling fine.
It was two above zero.

He went out that morning at 5:30 to sweep snow.
I didn’t even know he was out there.
It was two above zero.
When he came in the house I woke up and got dressed.

I didn’t know he was out there.
He said he was awful hungry. “I’ll fry myself 2 eggs.”
When he came in the house I woke up and got dressed.
Those are the last words he said.

He said he was awful hungry. “I’ll fry myself 2 eggs.”
He fell backwards in front of the kitchen stove.
Those are the last words he said.
Sweeping is harder on the heart than shoveling.

He fell backwards in front of the kitchen stove.
Bob from the mortuary said Charlie was gone before he hit the floor.
Sweeping is harder on the heart than shoveling.
His blood vessels in his eyes were ruptured.

Charlie was gone before he hit the floor.
He went so sudden.
Eye Vessels ruptured.
Just a few lines to let you know I’m getting along as well as can be expected.

The Guest House

Moni — Wed, 03 Nov 2010 11:37:03 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

A couple of weeks ago I participated in a Zazenkai. I’ll write about that experience in another post. But today I wanted to share a poem that I shared with everyone that day. I think it beautifully sums up everything I’ve learned in the past few months.

THE GUEST HOUSE

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

– Jelaluddin Rumi,

translation by Coleman Barks

A favorite poem

Moni — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 13:16:56 +0000

To continue my little celebration of National Poetry Month I thought I’d read you one of my favorite poems, “Music Swims Back To Me” by Anne Sexton.

Years and years ago I bought a cassette tape (that is how long ago it was) of Anne Sexton reading her work (that is how much of a poetry nerd I am). This particular poem was on that tape and it was amazing. She has the most amazing, gritty voice. The way she read “Music Swims Back to Me” really brought it home. The poem really needs to be heard.

The Poem that Sexton is most famous for, and that gets into most of the anthologies is “Her Kind.” This is another one of my favorites.

I did a bit of sleuthing around on Google and found this page. I think this is the same recording I had on cassette. The version of ”Her Kind” on this recording is the one that I remember and it’s absolutely haunting. ”Music Swims Back to Me” is on the same recording at the 5:40 mark. It is first recording on the list. Take a moment and have a listen by clicking here. In the name of National Poetry Month. You won’t be disappointed. I promise.