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For Aldo
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level...
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Wabi-Sabi
An apprentice gardener ~ after having raked every leaf, weeded every bed, trimmed every expiring flower, and set every stone aright ~ went to his master for approval. Sensei, he said, bowing low, It...
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A Strange Feather
All The craziness, All the empty plots, all the ghosts and fears, All the grudges and sorrows have Now Passed. I must have inhaled A strange Feather That finally Fell Out. ~ Hafiz Translation by...
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The Temple Bell
The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers. ~ Basho This week’s image ~ Japanese Temple Bell, Creative Commons, Saul Adereth/Flickr.
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Living Poetry
The earth is not a mere fragment of dead history, stratum upon stratum like the leaves of a book, to be studied by geologists and antiquaries chiefly, but living poetry like the leaves of a tree. ~...
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What Is So Rare
And what is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays: Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear...
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This Present Moment
This present moment: That lives on, To become Long ago ~ Gary Snyder
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Poetry Of Life
Nothing will sustain you more potently than the power to recognize in your humdrum routine, as perhaps it may be thought, the true poetry of life. ~ Sir William Osler (1849-1919), Canadian Physician...
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A Bed Of Mosses
And when thou art weary, I’ll find thee a bed of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head. ~ John Keats
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Poetry Of The Earth
The poetry of the earth is ceasing never; On a lone winter evening when the frost Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever. ~ John Keats Happy...
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