Tears flow in my heart
Love this poem
Thanks queen Patti🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
My pocket poem is Hope is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Patti, you are hard on yourself….you are a wonderful person!
I love this little poem. I’d never read it before. “What languor is this/That creeps into my heart?” My God, that is gorgeous. Thank you for sharing. 💜
A truly poignant poem.
Amazed by your wisdom and knowledge.
I love the poem, thank you for sharing it.
Patti! - I am starting a movement to ask Substack to put in a poetry section on the website - https://substack.com/profile/10309929-david/note/c-15537618
Feel free to support, and thank you as always :)
That cat 🐈⬛ ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for reading, Patti 🎈
Thank you thank you, dear Patti.
thank you Patti. and welcome home.
If I had known you, too,
collected a stone
here and there, I might have held on
to the gravelly earth, the tiny pebbles
that I bent to collect (so to be sure I'd not forget)
from in front of the Auschwitz firing wall
and fingered them in my jacket pocket
as I followed my husband on the tour,
and fingered them whenever I wore
that jacket, for two decades and more.
But when the coat, worn, thread-bare,
no longer served - I held the stones
in my palm and wondered - would
another pocket do? - instead
I placed them in the bed of crimson leaves
beneath the Japanese maple we had
planted on our wedding day -
alongside his ashes, for now too
is gone.
Today is my birthday, Patti
Stones in my pocket
Food on my book
—What languor is this?
A beautiful sensitivity,
infinite and infamous.
In any event, going beyond
my own little pocket moment.
Maybe find your own little poem—
Something that will fit in your pocket.
THE BLESSING OF THE MORNING LIGHT
The blessing of the morning light to you,
may it find you even in your invisible
appearances, may you be seen to have risen
from some other place you know and have known
in the darkness and that that carries all you need.
May you see what is hidden in you
as a place of hospitality and shadowed shelter,
may that hidden darkness be your gift to give,
may you hold that shadow to the light
and the silence of that shelter to the word of the light,
may you join all of your previous disappearances
with this new appearance, this new morning,
this being seen again, new and newly alive.
…
David Whyte
In Memoriam John O’Donohue
Easter Morning 2015
Thank you, dear Patti. Love this poem....maybe be small... but not small in feeling. I sense a feeling a loneliness from Verlaine. sadness...
Love this poem
Thanks queen Patti🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻
My pocket poem is Hope is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Patti, you are hard on yourself….you are a wonderful person!
I love this little poem. I’d never read it before. “What languor is this/That creeps into my heart?” My God, that is gorgeous. Thank you for sharing. 💜
A truly poignant poem.
Amazed by your wisdom and knowledge.
I love the poem, thank you for sharing it.
Patti! - I am starting a movement to ask Substack to put in a poetry section on the website - https://substack.com/profile/10309929-david/note/c-15537618
Feel free to support, and thank you as always :)
That cat 🐈⬛ ❤️❤️❤️
Thank you for reading, Patti 🎈
Thank you thank you, dear Patti.
thank you Patti. and welcome home.
If I had known you, too,
collected a stone
here and there, I might have held on
to the gravelly earth, the tiny pebbles
that I bent to collect (so to be sure I'd not forget)
from in front of the Auschwitz firing wall
and fingered them in my jacket pocket
as I followed my husband on the tour,
and fingered them whenever I wore
that jacket, for two decades and more.
But when the coat, worn, thread-bare,
no longer served - I held the stones
in my palm and wondered - would
another pocket do? - instead
I placed them in the bed of crimson leaves
beneath the Japanese maple we had
planted on our wedding day -
alongside his ashes, for now too
is gone.
Today is my birthday, Patti
Stones in my pocket
Food on my book
—What languor is this?
A beautiful sensitivity,
infinite and infamous.
In any event, going beyond
my own little pocket moment.
Maybe find your own little poem—
Something that will fit in your pocket.
THE BLESSING OF THE MORNING LIGHT
The blessing of the morning light to you,
may it find you even in your invisible
appearances, may you be seen to have risen
from some other place you know and have known
in the darkness and that that carries all you need.
May you see what is hidden in you
as a place of hospitality and shadowed shelter,
may that hidden darkness be your gift to give,
may you hold that shadow to the light
and the silence of that shelter to the word of the light,
may you join all of your previous disappearances
with this new appearance, this new morning,
this being seen again, new and newly alive.
…
David Whyte
In Memoriam John O’Donohue
Easter Morning 2015
…
Thank you, dear Patti. Love this poem....maybe be small... but not small in feeling. I sense a feeling a loneliness from Verlaine. sadness...