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Posts Tagged ‘joy’

One Art

 

for Sherry

 

 

in a time of thorns

finding the smallest joy—

making a room in it

big enough

we can all slip in

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Dear __________,

 

 

 

You are warmly invited to join our conspiracy of joy,

a growing cabal of strangers and friends who collude

to create delight, who initiate random acts of bliss, who

scheme of ways to help all others find authentic jubilance,

who tear down walls that would separate us and them.

If you enjoy such subterfuge, there certainly is room

for you. To be clear, you may be charged with pleasure,

ecstasy, and truth. Next meeting, now. And now. And now

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Once there’s one, you know

that there are hundreds to follow

hiding in and amongst everything,

next to impossible to eradicate—

some things seem to come

in great abundance.

May joy be one.

 

 

 

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Odd Joy in Paradox Valley

 

 

 

Driving through Bedrock,

population 14, I remember

sitting on the stoop of the general store

and asking Rose to come out from behind the counter

and sing me a song about sorrow.

Crazy how a sad song could make me

so happy. Crazy how every time I drive by

I still smile to think of her voice,

soaring as the red rock cliffs,

haunting as the windows shuttered and dark.

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One minute you’re sitting on the porch

in the warm morning sun and ten minutes later

 

it’s been an hour or more and you have forgotten

your name, forgotten the year, forgotten

 

who’s president, all that you know is the sky

has never been so clear and your body

 

has never been this starved for blue—the way

it steeps so deeply into you that by the time

 

you enter yourself again, you forget to wonder

how to make this radiance last,

 

can’t imagine you could ever feel

any other way.

 

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Window

 

 

 

In dark times it is sometimes hard

to speak of joy—not because

 

it doesn’t exist but because

of the guilt in feeling it.

 

The dark clots our arteries,

it keens in our ears, floods the streets.

 

Still, my friend sends me a word—

wushdan. It’s pronounced like swush,

 

she says, not swoosh. Wushdan.

I say it aloud, and the syllables

 

hush my tongue. It means,

she says, “heart awareness,

 

conscience,” as in a practice

of inner discipline. Wushdan,

 

I say again, as if to speak a word

is to know the secrets harboring

 

inside it for centuries.

The root, says my friend, is wush,

 

which is Persian, means joy.

It feels as if someone

 

has slipped me a piece of chocolate

in math class during a test.

 

Or as if, while reading

the headlines of war I look out

 

the window and see the big brown eyes

of a doe looking unwaveringly

 

into mine. And I put the paper down

and watch out the window

 

until the light is gone.

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One More Step

 

 

 

after crossing the finish line,

we keep on running—

joy, the reason to run

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One Saturation

 

 

soused with joy—

unable to remember any myth

that didn’t end happily

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Four Surprise Joys

 

 

 

steep, this trail—

one more reason to pause often

and notice how beautiful

 

*

 

the same rich tea—

drinking it from different cups

together

 

*

 

without looking

I find you—

unexpected sun

 

*

 

sunset so pink

the mind undoes another button—

the whole world blushes

 

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The Short List

It can be so simple,
what gives us joy.
The trace of green
in winter grass.
The scent of ginger.
A slip of a forgotten song
that returns to the lips.
A lemon cookie
sweet and tart.
And another one, too.
The feeling that
there are a million million
small sources of joy,
and the day, though
it’s finite, is not
yet over.

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