Spoon - Underdog
December 25
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Monday, December 22, 2014
Saturday, December 20, 2014
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Saturday, December 13, 2014
Thursday, December 11, 2014
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Holly Bunch Christmas Tree Ornaments
Coming Home
I have been waiting a long time.
The door is open,
The lamp shines on the oilcloth,
The old man's face hidden in light
Asleep.
I am putting my words together for whatever intelligence there may be in the world. There is no other reality among men than this
intelligence....To be more than I thought I was--
a sensation utterly new to me...
That power we had felt flowing in us and through us could not, in the nature of things, be acutely conscious of us as individuals. It must come rather as wind comes to the trees of a forest, or as the ocean continues to murmur in the seashell
it has thrown ashore.
Travelers long on the road
stop here for water and for the view.
Theri children run
through the young and old pines,
splashing in theneedles
or chasing the wild canaries, their light cries
receding in the aisles of shade.
The light is so simple
and steady,
as if tiny beaks
had opened a vein of pure sunlight in the forest,
and the fathers and mothers
stand looking down,
their lies
jumping at the base of their throast
and little words
unspocken for twenty or thirty years
cling to their lips like droplets of water.
In the valley the taut fences
stretch pitilessly to the horizon
and all those who want to be someplace else
must follow them.
The hawks and owls crufified on the wire
have long since returned to their own country,
and the mouse trembles in exstasy,
lost in the shadow of their wings.
Robert Mezey
The Door Standing Open
New and Selected poems 1954-1969
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Saturday, December 6, 2014
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