Walking by Thomas Traherne

To walk abroad is, not with eyes,

But thoughts, the fields to see and prize;
         Else may the silent feet,
                Like logs of wood,
Move up and down, and see no good
         Nor joy nor glory meet.
 

Ev’n carts and wheels their place do change,

But cannot see, though very strange
         The glory that is by;
                Dead puppets may
Move in the bright and glorious day,
         Yet not behold the sky.

 

And are not men than they more blind,
Who having eyes yet never find
         The bliss in which they move;
                Like statues dead
They up and down are carried
         Yet never see nor love.

 

To walk is by a thought to go;
To move in spirit to and fro;
         To mind the good we see;
                To taste the sweet;
Observing all the things we meet
         How choice and rich they be.
 

To note the beauty of the day,

And golden fields of corn survey;
         Admire each pretty flow’r
                With its sweet smell;
To praise their Maker, and to tell
         The marks of his great pow’r.

 

To fly abroad like active bees,
Among the hedges and the trees,
         To cull the dew that lies
                On ev’ry blade,
From ev’ry blossom; till we lade
         Our minds, as they their thighs.

 

Observe those rich and glorious things,
The rivers, meadows, woods, and springs,
         The fructifying sun;
                To note from far
The rising of each twinkling star
         For us his race to run.

 

A little child these well perceives,
Who, tumbling in green grass and leaves,
         May rich as kings be thought,
                But there’s a sight
Which perfect manhood may delight,
         To which we shall be brought.

 

While in those pleasant paths we talk,
’Tis that tow’rds which at last we walk;
         For we may by degrees
                Wisely proceed
Pleasures of love and praise to heed,
         From viewing herbs and trees.

Babies by Annella Grayce

Babies always make me smile.

Baby humans learning to walk and talk.
Baby geese hissing just like their mother as I ride my bike past.
Baby birds squawking for food up in the tree.
Baby rabbits enjoying lunch in the yard.
Mamas are never far away.  Always watching for trouble. 
Sometimes you see them and sometimes you don’t.

Everything the Power of the World does is done in a circle

Everything the Power of the World
does is done in a circle
By Black Elk

Everything the power of the world does

is done in a circle.  The sky is round,
and I have heard that the earth is round
like a ball, and so are all the stars.
The wind, in its greatest power, whirls.

Birds make their nests in circles,

for theirs is the same religion as ours.

The sun comes forth and goes down again

in a circle.  The moon does the same,
and both are round.  Even the seasons
form a great circle in their changing,
and always come back again to where they were.

The life of man is a circle from childhood to childhood,

and so it is in everything where power moves.

Reprinted by permission from Black Elk Speaks: Being the Life Story of a Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux, The Premier Edition by John G. Neihardt, the State University of New York Press ©2008, State University of New York.  All rights reserved.

Sun shining by Annella Grayce

Sun shining

Wind rustling
Birds singing
Bunnies eating
Trees shading
Blood pressure lowering
Mind clearing
Heart calming

Shades of Green

Shades of Green

I lay on the grass and look up at a tree.

The dark green shades on the leaves are enlightened by the sun shining down.
All of this is accented perfectly by the deep brown trunk and branches.
I watch robins dance from branch to branch as they decide if I’m friend or foe.
A squirrel races up the opposite side of the tree.
He’s decided I’m a foe.
The alarm on my phone goes off.
Lunch break is over.

The Rain

The Rain
By Robert Creeley

All night the sound had

come back again,
and again falls
this quiet, persistent rain.

What am I to myself

that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often?  It is

that never the ease,

even the hardness,
of rain falling
will have for me

something other than this

something not so insistent –
am I to be locked in this
final uneasiness.

Love, if you love me,

lie next to me.
be for me, like rain,
the getting out

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
Be wet
with a decent happiness.

 

Used by permission.  Copyright 1983 by Regents of the University of California. (University of California Press)  From:  Americans’ Favorite Poems by Robert Pinsky and Maggie Dietz; © 2000 by Robert Pinsky; W.W. Norton and Company, New York

 

Fog

Fog
By:  Annella Grayce

I envy animals.

Survival of the fittest
means they don’t age.

They don’t contend

with the fog of age.

Why our human brains

fog over in age.
I will never understand.

Watching the fog

roll in is disheartening.

Gone is the fun

easy-going family member.
Fog is all that remains.

I envy animals.