A song to fall like water

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I n   N e e d   O f   B a s e b a l l

Fenway Park

Boston, Massachusetts

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I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

= Elizabeth Bishop =

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Happy Tuesday

But only so an hour

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S i n g   I t

Downtown Alleyway

Columbia, South Carolina

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Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

= Robert Frost =

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Happy Thursday

So etched in sunlight

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S i g n s   A l o n g   T h e   W a y

Early March Evening Sky

Western North Carolina

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If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

= Billy Collins =

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Happy Wednesday

In that green bower

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W i s t e r i a   H y s t e r i a

Back Yard

Columbia, South Carolina

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I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure: --
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

= William Wordsworth =

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Happy Tuesday

Though it all happened before

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B l u e   S k y   L i g h t n i n g   S t r i k e

Oakwood Cemetery

Raleigh, North Carolina

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Though the crocuses poke up their heads in the usual places,
The frog scum appear on the pond with the same froth of green,
And boys moon at girls with last year's fatuous faces,
I never am bored, however familiar the scene. 

When from under the barn the cat brings a similar litter, --
Two yellow and black, and one that looks in between, --
Though it all happened before, I cannot grow bitter:
I rejoice in the spring, as though no spring ever had been.

= Theodore Roethke =

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Happy Friday