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Posts Tagged ‘Poem’

Morning Verse


(Photo found here.)

Every morning my classmates and I recited this verse, all through middle school. Every once in a while it comes up, and each time I come across it I am struck by the sense of purpose and connectedness I feel. A childhood friend of mine just recently returned from Cambodia and he wrote a piece for my school’s newsletter about finally feeling the full purpose of these words. Thus they come into my life again and I am filled with a lightness and bubbling excitement that comes from feeling that all things are possible.

I look into the world
In which the sun is shining,
In which the stars are sparkling,
In which the stones repose.
Where living plants are growing,
Where sentient beasts are living,
Where man, soul gifted,
Gives the spirit a dwelling place .

I look into my soul
That lives within my being.
The world creator moves,
In sunlight and in soul light,
In wide world space without,
In soul depths here within.
To thee, creator spirit
I will now turn my heart,
To ask that strength and blessing,
To learn and work may grow,
Within my inmost being.

-Rudolf Steiner

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Richard Wilbur

So Yarn Harlot posted a beautiful poem today as a part of the BRigid in Cyberspace Poetry Reading. I didn’t know there was such a thing, but I am all for sharing my favorite poem with you all!

The Writer by Richard Wilbur

In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.

But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which

The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.

I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash

And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark

And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,

It lifted off from a chair-back,
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world.

It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder.

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