imageLong poems seem to be new if you skip the start
and pick them up mid-way. I visited today’s poem
in December, ’03, from quite a different place:


Red died the sun, but at dark wind rose easterly, white sea
nagged the black harbor headland.

When there is a strong swell, you may, if you surrender to it,

A sense, in the act, of mystic unity with that rhythm. Your
peace is the sea’s will.
But now no motion, the bay-face is glossy in darkness, like
An old window pane flat on black ground by the wall,
near the ash heap. It neither

Receives nor gives light. Now is the hour when the sea

Sinks into meditation. It doubts its own mission. The drowned

That on the evening swell had kept nudging the piles of the
pier and had seemed

To want to climb out and lick itself dry, now floats free. On
that surface a slight convexity only, it is like

An eyelid in darkness closed. You must learn to accept the
kiss of fate, for

The masts go white slow, as light, like dew, from darkness
Condensed on them, on oiled wood, on metal. Dew whitens
in darkness.

I lie in my bed and think how, in darkness, the masts go

The sound of the engine of the first fishing dory dies seaward.

In the inward glen wakes the dawn-dove. We must try

To love so well the world that we may believe, in the end, in

………. ROBERT PENN WARREN, (1905-1989) from the book
The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry.

I could have paused, any where along the way, and found
meaning as well as pleasure in the words and even the way
the poet wanted to structure the lines. Today, the whole of
it just flowed out and stayed with me.

always with love,


HELLO again…

imageThe morning that lasted for almost a month finally
got tired of being seen, and it pushed me out of bed
to say hello, again. I went looking through the poets’
books for just the right balance between Autumn and
coming Winter.

You’ll have to know if it’s enough.
Here it is:


Nothing that I do is finished
so I keep returning to it
lured by the notion that I long
to see the whole of it at last
completed and estranged from me.

but no unfinished is what
I return to as it leads me on
I am made whole by what has just
escaped me as it always does
I am made of incompleteness
the words are not there in words

oh gossamer gossamer breath
moment daylight life untouchable
by no name with no beginning

what do we think we recognize”

………….. W.S. MERWIN, from his book,
The Moon Before Mornng, 2014

I am grateful for each small moment forward.

always with love,



Photo by Gregory Colbert
Photo by Gregory Colbert

I have an extra hour, granted by the Autumn
national past time of “Fall Back” on the clock.
And I found this poem to share with you this morning:


For some time I thought there was time

and that there would always be time

for what I had a mind to do

and what I could imagine

going back to and finding it

as I had found it the first time

but by this time I do not know

what I thought when I thought back then
there is no time yet it grows less

there is the sound of rain at night

arriving unknown in the leaves

once without before or after

then I hear the thrush waking

at daybreak singing the new song.”

…………..W.S. MERWIN, in his book of poetry,
The Moon Before Morning.

It’s not daybreak yet; the world out there looks
black in spite of the wind moving the leaves.
That lulls me back to maybe find another hour of rest.

always with love,