A poem for the victims…

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye (source)

Sunday Poetry Reading, June 10 – It Is a Small Plant

It Is a Small Plant

William Carlos Williams

It is a small plant

delicately branched and

tapering conically

to a point, each branch

and the peak a wire for        

green pods, blind lanterns

starting upward from

the stalk each way to

a pair of prickly edged blue

flowerets: it is her regard,        

a little plant without leaves,

a finished thing guarding

its secret. Blue eyes—

but there are twenty looks

in one, alike as forty flowers        

on twenty stems—Blue eyes

a little closed upon a wish

achieved and half lost again,

stemming back, garlanded

with green sacks of        

satisfaction gone to seed,

back to a straight stem—if

one looks into you, trumpets—!

No. It is the pale hollow of

desire itself counting        

over and over the moneys of

a stale achievement. Three

small lavender imploring tips b

elow and above them two

slender colored arrows        

of disdain with anthers

between them and

at the edge of the goblet

a white lip, to drink from—!

And summer lifts her look        

forty times over, forty times

over—namelessly.

I never would have read this poem if I hadn’t signed up at Poets.Org for their “Poem-A-Day” emails. I’ve discovered a lot of poems through that so, if you like poetry, you should sign up.

Sunday Poetry Reading, May 27 – “Remember” by Christina Rossetti

REMEMBER

REMEMBER me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann’d:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

by Christina Rossetti