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Posts Tagged ‘beauty’

 

 

 

The pre-dawn light has already

claimed the stars so that anything

I might try to name in the sky

has disappeared—though there

is still one planet dazzling and white

just above the horizon. Perhaps

it’s better that I don’t know

how to name it, know only

to praise it, it’s small insistence

on light the only thing

I need to know.

 

 

 

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Self-portrait as Tenement

 

 

 

So sweepingly pink

the sunset over the city

that it pours

into the emptiness—

not to fix it, no,

more as if to show

what a little splendor can do

when given a place

to enter.

 

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All morning, I make myself useful—

mow the lawn and vacuum

the carpet and scrub the potatoes

and slice the melon and straighten

the shelves and look out the window

and see the snapdragons I planted

last spring not because they were useful,

but because they are so beautiful.

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Dear Finn,

 

 

 

Full of seed, the bird feeder hangs

from the cottonwood tree

we planted years ago.

Even without the birds,

it is beautiful—

dangling midair

with its copper perches

and glass column.

 

This morning in the news,

we are going to war with each other—

either with words or with missiles.

It seems clear

that we are our own problem.

 

No wonder we try to bring beauty in close—

the garden with its open faced pansies,

the hummingbird feeder with its hold

of sugar water.

 

The battles are not

what will save us,

it’s beauty—not just

outside us, but in us.

 

All day, let us look

for ways be like this brown bird

at the feeder, see

how it gathers light

in its open wings.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Beside the highway,

the willows are beginning

to find their green

and the dandelions

have begun to spell

their golden praise

across the ground.

What more did I think

I needed today?

Some proof that things

do not fall apart?

Let me surrender

to beauty, brief

as it is, the melody

that plays beneath

all other melodies.

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In the glass case

is a necklace

with 5,000 stone beads

all drilled and strung

over a thousand years ago

and I think of the man

whose hands did the work—

how he chose not just

to survive, but to make

something beautiful.

I think of your hands,

of the choices

they make,

quiet nights,

all around us,

so much beauty.

 

 

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After the first half mile

my shoes are soaked through

from post holing through knee deep snow.

There’s still a long way to go,

and the hike is for pleasure, after all,

so I decide it’s not so bad,

the squish of my socks,

the chill seeping in.

It’s just another way to remember

I’m alive, and though it’s slippery

and slushy, the trail,

and though I’m less nimble

than I’d wish to be,

look at that blue, blue sky,

and oh, my long shadow,

see how eagerly it leans to the east.

 

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