A new Poetry Blog 

THE SONGS AND SONNETS OF JOHN DONNE

begins on Sunday 6th December at

http://thesongsandsonnetsofjohndonne.blogspot.com

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A New Poetry Blog begins on Saturday 25th July 2015

POETRY - A PERSONAL CHOICE

http://poetry-apersonalchoice.blogspot.com

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A new Art blog begins on Friday 26th June

V IS FOR VINCENT

will show 72 paintings by Vincent van Gogh

http://visforvincent.blogspot.com

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TODAY'S POST CONCLUDES THE PRESENT SERIES

It seemed appropriate that the final item should be the poem that inspired the blog - J.J.

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The Poet circa 1910

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THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Robert Frost 1874/1963

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.

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There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery - Joseph Conrad 1857-1924

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The bright thin new moon appears,

Tipped askew in the heavens.

It no sooner shines over

The ruined fortress than the

Evening clouds overwhelm it.

The Milky Way shines unchanging

Over the freezing mountains

Of the border. White frost covers

The garden. The chrysanthemums

Clot and freeze in the night.

(Tu Fu 712-770, translated by Kenneth Rexroth - "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese")

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Slowly, silently, now the moon

Walks the night in her silver shoon;

This way, and that, she peers, and sees

Silver fruit upon silver trees;

One by one the casements catch

Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;

Couched in his kennel, like a log,

With paws of silver sleeps the dog;

From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep

Of doves in silver-feathered sleep

A harvest mouse goes scampering by,

With silver claws, and silver eye;

And moveless fish in the water gleam,

By silver reeds in a silver stream.

- Walter de la Mare 1873-1956

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NEXT POST THURSDAY

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Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.

-  Martin Luther King Jr.

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THE SONG OF THE WANDERING AENGUS

William Butler Yeats 1865-1939

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire a-flame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And someone called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done,

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

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The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched - they must be felt with the heart.

- Helen Keller 1880-1968

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NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL ART
was updated yesterday
http://nowthatswhaticallart.blogspot.com

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Nothing, Everything, Anything, Something: 

If you have Nothing, then you have Everything, because you have the freedom to do Anything, without the fear of losing Something. 

- Jarod Kintz  b.1982

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PLEASE CALL ME BY MY TRUE NAMES

Thich Nhat Hanh  b.1926

Don't say that I will depart tomorrow--even today I am still arriving.  

Look deeply: every second I am arriving to be a bud on a Spring branch, to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile wings, learning to sing in my new nest, to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower, to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone. 

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry, to fear and to hope. The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death of all that is alive. 

I am a mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river. And I am the bird that swoops down to swallow the mayfly. 

I am a frog swimming happily in the clear water of a pond. And I am the grass-snake that silently feeds itself on the frog. 

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones, my legs as thin as bamboo sticks. And I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to Uganda. 

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat, who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea pirate. And I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving. 

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my hands. And I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to my people dying slowly in a forced-labour camp. 

My joy is like Spring, so warm it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth. My pain is like a river of tears, so vast it fills the four oceans. 

Please call me by my true names, so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once, so I can see that my joy and pain are one. 

Please call me by my true names, so I can wake up and the door of my heart could be left open, the door of compassion. 

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Simplicity, patience, compassion.

These three are your greatest treasures.

- Lao Tzu  (6th cent BC)

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NOW THAT'S WHAT I CALL ART
will be updated tomorrow
http://nowthatswhaticallart.blogspot.com

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