Go to the Limits of your Longing

by Rainer Maria Rilke

God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.

These are the words we dimly hear:

You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.

Flare up like a flame
and make big shadows I can move in.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.

Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.

Give me your hand.

Book of Hours, I 59

The Bare Tree

by Samuel Menashe    American, b. 1925


      My mother once said to me, "When one sees
the tree in leaf one thinks the beauty of the tree
is in its leaves, and then one sees the bare tree."

Dedicated to my family of trees.  M.E.

Lost

by David Wagoner,  American,  b. 1926

Stand still.  The trees ahead and the bushes
   beside you
Are not lost.  Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes.  Listen.  It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying
    Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost.  Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are.  You must let it find you. 

The Peace of Wild Things

by Wendell Berry,   born 1934-

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives
   may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great
   heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief.  I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light.  For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

When He Heard the Owls at Midnight

From The Song of Hiawatha,  by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

   
     When he heard the owls at midnight
Hooting, laughing in the forest,
"What is that?" he said, "Nokomis?"
And the good Nokomis answered:
That is but the owl and owlet,
Talking in their native language,
Talking, scolding at each other." 

     Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in Summer,
Where they hid themselves in Winter,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Call them "Hiawatha's Chickens."

      Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How the beavers built their lodges,
Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
Why the rabbit was so timid,
Talked with them whene'er he met them,
Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."

First Place in the Poetry Slam

Today's poem is very special and personal.  It was written by a 7th grader at Ecker Hill Middle School on the spur of the moment to enter the school poetry slam.
He won first place and the approval of his English teacher, as well as the admiration of his grandmother....me.

This is the time,
The time where the future generation moves on.
Out of the nest,
Learning to fly,
Joining the whole as a true citizen.

Responsibilities will come up
And slap you in the face,
But you just have to get up
And keep moving.

Because life is a test,
A test of character,
A test of responsibility,
A test of who you are.

And that is all life will ever be.

by Will Watkins

My Thanks Come Easily--At Times

My thanks come easily

When my fortunes rise

And my will is King

And all the world seems my estate.

My thanks come easily such times.

But wait...

Today, let me reflect

Upon those thanks I owe

But which I find

Express themselves less fluently.

Today, let me remember to give thanks,

Not only for the sunlight,

But for those darker hours

That teach Fortitude.

Let me profess, today, a grateful heart,

Not merely for successes I may know,

But as truly for those failures

That teach Humility.

Let me express my gratitude

For all those petty, inner conflicts

Which, once resolved, breed new Serenity,

And for those small, distressing fears

That have their ways of building Hope.

Let me breathe appreciation

For all those poignant slights

That teach me Thoughtfulness,

And for each violated trust

That leaves Loyalty as its lesson.

And let me not forget, today

To whisper thanks for these:

The contempt that teaches Pity,

The tear that teaches Joy,

The pain that teaches Mercy,

And the loneliness that teaches Love.

So, now...

Let me reflect upon these thanks I owe...

And let my thanks come easily today.

--Bernard J. Patrick