Sunday, August 29, 2010

Sometimes a poem...

Sometimes a poem can say things so much better than I...




Messenger by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
    equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
    keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
    astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
    and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
    to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

1 comment:

Dianne said...

I'm reading and passing along your poems. This one went to my uncle and aunt in California. We're hosting a running conversation about what really matters in life and how life's transitions invite us to be humble, forgiving, coaching/teachable, grateful. This poem speaks into this conversation in a potent way, so thank you!