Little Blogs 2

Each day until I can no longer read

Four days ago I suddenly had a thought as I looked at my shelves of poetry books: from this day until I can no longer read I intend to read at least ONE POEM per day. Or night...I have started with Mary Oliver's collection called Thirst, the one following the death of her partner of over forty years. Hard to keep to one poem...and mostly don't...but how can lines like these be anything but an invitation to read one more?

My work is loving the world...

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...

Besides which...it means I go to sleep with a smile of peaceful forest scenes...

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Latest comments

10.12 | 08:27

I have browsed your comments on these books at various times and came back again now to be inspired to round out my selection for my 'winter reading'.

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02.12 | 19:23

Yes indeed...will show you tomorrow.

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02.12 | 19:20

I like these very much. The spirals amid stars and land especially feel like pure whimsy and joy. Black paper and gel pens, you say?.....

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10.09 | 21:59

Hearing you! MB

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