Mouse Poop

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For November

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

by Mary Oliver
Sat, November 2, 2013 - 10:30 AM — permalink - 0 comments - add a comment

For July

When Death Comes

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.
-Mary Oliver
Sun, June 30, 2013 - 3:44 PM — permalink - 1 comments - add a comment

For June

All The Hemispheres


Leave the familiar for a while.

Let your senses and bodies stretch out



Like a welcomed season

Onto the meadows and shores and hills.



Open up to the Roof.

Make a new water-mark on your excitement

And love.



Like a blooming night flower,

Bestow your vital fragrance of happiness

And giving

Upon our intimate assembly.



Change rooms in your mind for a day.



All the hemispheres in existence

Lie beside an equator

In your heart.



Greet Yourself

In your thousand other forms

As you mount the hidden tide and travel

Back home.



All the hemispheres in heaven

Are sitting around a fire

Chatting



While stitching themselves together

Into the Great Circle inside of

You.
--Hafiz


Mon, June 3, 2013 - 10:38 PM — permalink - 1 comments - add a comment
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