Categories
Random Posts
- The Sound of Her: an alba or aubadeBelow the quiet hum the waking world makes as earth turns slowly sun-ward each new day, before the civil bustle starts in earnest and clutters …
- Working on a BuildingYou are what you are because of your past daily habits. Day by day you must make or break your body. You either build it …
- Voodoo RisingOut on the levee, right before dawn, I heard a quiet rumble that came and then was gone. As the darkness faded, surrendered to the …
- The Sound of Her: an alba or aubade
Recent Comments
- Irene on Some ancient affirmations
- Rekha on No More Sad Weepings of Regret
- Novena on Wake Up: sonetto rispetto
- John on On the Veranda: serenade
Subscribe
Join 298 other subscribersMeta
Tag Archives: dying
I Will Not Dwell: a bob and wheel
I will not dwell on might-have beens, nor doubt the world’s slow turn; but fill my world with verdant greens, with love’s unending yearn to learn of things beyond my reach, just out of sight and mind; what dreams and … Continue reading →
Posted in Poems
|
Tagged anglo-saxon prosody, bob and wheel, death, dying, life, poetic forms, regrets
|
Leave a comment
Time the Devourer
Tradition, will your ancient prison walls, behind which all are born and most will die, hold firm against time’s fervent battle cry that need not force its soldiers in your halls but deep down in your dungeons simply waits while … Continue reading →
Abandon This Garbage: alcaics
Oh wisdom seeking mendicant travelers, your baggage and burdens are troubling handicaps; they will not help you on your journey. Abandon this garbage by the roadside. If you would find some unforeseen adventure, let drop your jaded world-weary illusions; you … Continue reading →
Posted in Poems
|
Tagged adventure, alcaics, dying, enlightenment, living, pilgrimmages, poetic forms, seeking, travel
|
Leave a comment
Homestead Elegy: a quintilla
A quarter mile back down the lane paved with loose stone and bits of brick, past three tall trees that still remain after ten years almost the same, though at their bases weeds grow thick, a wood frame house, its … Continue reading →
Posted in Poems
|
Tagged dying, family, nostalgia, poetic forms, quintilla, remnants, ruin, rural living
|
Leave a comment
Nothing of the Fall
Spring doesn’t know summer; it’s just risen from the dead. After all that time in winter, it would rather play instead. Spring doesn’t know summer, but it gets there anyway: every stormy April morning leads to afternoon in May. But … Continue reading →
Posted in Poems
|
Tagged acceptance, daily poems, dying, living, maturity, memories, regret, seasons
|
Leave a comment
The Width of a Circle
Each thing that starts must have an end; for every wax there is a wend that once begun, moves to its finish. Every birth has bury in it. Like the moon face cycles through, and new leaves sprout, then leave … Continue reading →
Posted in Poems
|
Tagged acceptance, circles, daily poems, dying, living, meter, poetics, rhyme, rhythm
|
Leave a comment
Seed Thought on Living and Dying
My religion is to live – and die – without regret. — Milarepa, 1052-1135 CE Share This: