Morning Poem

Morning Poem

by Mary Oliver

Every morning

the world

is created

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

and heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches –

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead –

if it’s all you can do

to keep on trudging –

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted –

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered


every morning.

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.

Reminder: Are you practicing Elimination Communication?  Come by the drop-in parent-baby support group this Wednesday from 9:30 – 11 at Alma Education Space, 9:30 – 11!  More info can be found here: 




by David Whyte

It doesn’t interest me if there is one God or many gods.

I want to know if you belong — or feel abandoned.

If you know despair

or can see it in others.

I want to know

if you are prepared to live in the world

with its harsh need to change you;

If you can look back with firm eyes

saying “this is where I stand.”

I want to know if you know how to melt

into that fierce heat of living

falling toward the center of your longing.

I want to know if you are willing

to live day by day

with the consequence of love

and the bitter unwanted passion

of your sure defeat.

I have been told

in that fierce embrace

even the gods

speak of God.





song for autumn

Song for Autumn  by Mary Oliver

In the deep fall

don’t you imagine the leaves think how

comfortable it will be to touch

the earth instead of the

nothingness of air and the endless

freshets of wind? And don’t you think

the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,

warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep

inside their bodies? And don’t you hear

the goldenrod whispering goodbye,

the everlasting being crowned with the first

tuffets of snow? The pond

vanishes, and the white field over which

the fox runs so quickly brings out

its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its

bellows. And at evening especially,

the piled firewood shifts a little,

longing to be on its way.

By the way, I updated the books in the sidebar — check them out!  Also, I’ll be hosting a table at Committed! Bridal Event this Friday for any engaged couples/interested brides- or grooms-to-be who want to come by for the party.  It is going to be a really fun event.  I’m going to wear my dancing shoes.   


a full moon in each eye

With That Moon Language

Admit something

Everyone you see, you say to them,

“Love me.”

Of course, you do not do this out loud;


Someone would call the cops.

Still though, think about this,

This great pull in us

To connect.

Why not become the one

Who lives with a full moon in each eye

That is always saying,

With that sweet moon


What every other eye in this world

Is dying to


From The Gift, Poems by Hafiz


when someone deeply listens to you

Finding What You Didn’t Lose

When someone deeply listens to you
it is like holding out a dented cup
you’ve had since childhood
and watching it fill up with
cold, fresh water.
When it balances on top of the brim,
you are understood.
When it overflows and touches your skin,
you are loved.
When someone deeply listens to you,
the room where you stay
starts a new life
and the place where you wrote
your first poem
begins to glow in your mind’s eye.
It is as if gold has been discovered!
When someone deeply listens to you,
your bare feet are on the earth
and a beloved land that seemed distant
is now at home within you.

~ John Fox ~


a 10-year-old poet told me everything I needed to hear this morning.

Waiting in Line

When you listen you reach
into dark corners and
pull out your wonders.
When you listen your
ideas come in and out
like they were waiting in line.
Your ears don’t always listen.
It can be your brain, your
fingers, your toes.
You can listen anywhere.
Your mind might not want to go.
If you can listen you can find
answers to questions you didn’t know.
If you have listened, truly
listened, you don’t find your
self alone.


~ Nick Penna, fifth grade ~

(In Poetic Medicine by John Fox)


summer day

a poem to start off your week:

The Summer Day

Who made the world?

 Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean the one who is

 eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth

instead of up and down -

who is gazing around with her

enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms

and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall into the grass,

 how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed,

how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

 Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

 with your one wild and precious life?


                                                Mary Oliver

We are on vacation this week.  We’ll catch up with you on Friday for *this moment.*  Have a happy 1st week of June!