From my favourite Poet

                                       PEACE
 
I have a small grain of hope,
One small crystal that gleams clear colours of transparency.
 
I need more.
 
I break off a fragment to send to you.
 
Please take this grain of a grain of hope, so that mine won’t shrink,
 
Please share your fragment so that yours’ will grow,
 
Only so by division will hope increase…
 
Like a clump of irises, which will cease to flower,
Unleess you distribute the clustered roots…
 
Unlikely source, clumsy and earth covered of grace.

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2 Responses to “From my favourite Poet”

  1. Talisa Deshandon Says:

    This is an absolutely beautiful poem. You have written that this is from your favourite poet – I am curious – who, pray tell, might that be?

    Here’s a poem from one of my favourite poets.

    VALLEY

    where time is a flower, a stone, days
    drop their rich litter, and we lie
    in them as in a bed of leaves

    our house is an old mountain
    we come and go
    the river brings us home, the wind

    we know of the world
    its legends call, echo
    with the sound of steps
    on a lost road

    mysteries have the weight of butterflies
    drifting at the bright
    border of all we know – that flowers die,
    that trees may fall, startling us,
    fall in the stream and change its ways

    in an instinct of seasons
    all history plays

    rising early
    we walk for hours

    nothing exists
    but time, which is slow,
    and distance, which is green

    sensing we live
    beyond something, almost
    posthumous, our lives turn, our history
    the shadow on a sundial

    this is a littler one…

    RAINPOEM

    three days of rain: indoors
    the mind runs over some
    eternal mysteries
    polishing them lightly: outdoors
    noticing how
    even the hugest man seems frail,
    gentle, trying to keep dry
    a loaf of new bread

  2. John Newell Says:

    I’m sure this one is from Rachael Nelson, she seems to have a second soul when she writes. She has an unmatched power of communication, a moral authority beyond question. Truth is I avoid her because I am so completly at her mercy.

    Thankyou for the poems you sent, who are they by that they carry the smell of fresh bread.

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