Chance
Sara Teasdale
HOW many times we must have met
Here on the street as strangers do,
Children of chance we were, who passed
The door of heaven and never knew.
Poems for Positivity
Briefly it Enters, Briefly it Speaks ~ a poem by Jane Kenyon
Briefly it Enters, Briefly it Speaks
Jane Kenyon
I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .
I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper….
When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .
I am food on the prisoner’s plate. . . .
I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .
I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .
I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .
I am the heart contracted by joy. . . .
the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .
I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .
I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .
I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .
Barter ~ a poem by Sara Teasdale
Barter
Sara Teasdale
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children’s faces looking up,
Holding wonder like a cup.
Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like the curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.
Today’s Poem: Encourage by Charles Frederick White
Encouragement
Charles Frederick White
‘Tis not winter time yet, my dear heart,
Though autumn has crept through the air;
‘Tis not time to be sad and lonely;
There’s no need to live in despair.
The birds are yet singing with sweetness;
The grass is yet growing and green.
The streams are yet rippling and merry;
The snow-clad hills are not yet seen.
The flowers are yet full and handsome;
The squirrel yet plays in the trees;
The sun has lost none of his lustre;
There’s some warmth yet left in the breeze.
Therefore, dear heart, cheer up, be mirthful;
Throb not with less vigor and vim;
Thy blood flows as freely as ever;
Thy life is yet nourished by Him.
Today’s Poem: Inside a Deep Isolation by Saesei Muro
Inside a Deep Isolation
Saesei Muro
When a musician steps down off the stage,
when he steps down, sent off with the clapping of a fine crowd of people,
what an intense and deserted isolation he must feel.
In spite of that thunder of admiration
how deeply a fine musician, outside the bounds of the crowd of people,
must love with a passion the height of isolation that is his.
Today’s Poem: My Dog by Marchette Gaylord Chute
My Dog
Marchette Gaylord Chute
His nose is short and scrubby;
His ears hang rather low;
And he always brings the stick back
No matter how far you throw,
He gets spanked rather often
For things he shouldn’t do,
Like lying-on-beds, and barking,
And eating up shoes when they’re new
He always wants to be going
Where he isn’t supposed to go.
He tracks up the house when it’s snowing—
Oh, puppy, I love you so.
Today’s Poem: Peace by Langston Hughes
Peace
Langston Hughes
We passed their graves:
The dead men there,
Winners or losers,
Did not care.
In the dark
They could not see
Who had gained
The victory.
Today’s Poem by Walt Whitman
A Clear Midnight
Walt Whitman
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes
thou lovest best.
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
Today’s Poem: What Survives by Rainer Maria Rilke
What Survives
Rainer Maria Rilke
Who says that all must vanish?
Who knows, perhaps the flight
of the bird you wound remains,
and perhaps flowers survive
caresses in us, in their ground.
It isn’t the gesture that lasts,
but it dresses you again in gold
armor —from breast to knees—
and the battle was so pure
an Angel wears it after you.
Today’s Poem: Heartbeat by Rainer Maria Rilke
Heartbeat
Rainer Maria Rilke
Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart
which safely exists in the center of all things?
His giant heartbeat is diverted in us
into little pulses. And his giant grief
is, like his giant jubilation, far too
great for us. And so we tear ourselves away
from him time after time, remaining only
mouths. But unexpectedly and secretly
the giant heartbeat enters our being,
so that we scream ——,
and are transformed in being and in countenance.
