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This week, I'm going to pop a potent one in some pockets. It's also a poem I've learned by heart, and one of my all-time favorites for contemplation.
The Gods Are Not Large
But perhaps
the heart
does not want
to be understood.
Your shadow
falls on its pond
and the small fish
hurry away.
They have
their own lives
which they love.
And if to you
it is anger,
bewilderment,
grief,
to them
it is simply life:
their mouths
open and close,
their gills,
they are fed,
they breathe.
The gods
are not large,
outside us.
They are the fish
going on
with their own
concerns.
- Jane Hirshfield
What will you do to multiply the bounty? Which poem will you pop stealthily into pockets? Let us know in your post (then please link back here to spread the joy), or tell us all about it right here in the comments...
Let's spread the word love, shall we? Who's it hurting??
MFB,
L
6 comments:
Hi Laurie,
I haven't written a post specifically for this meme, but thought that I would like to share this short poem with you.
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I'm not sure that I shall be posting this poem in many pockets, but good luck to you in your quest, I love the video that accompanies your post.
Sail, explore the vastness
Feast on the bounty
There is more to life
In between pain and despair
Surf, ride along the possibilities
Chances can’t be scarce
To those who search
Success won’t be far away
Float; run with the wind of change
Lots of riddles to be solved
Life is a quest, a voyage
Uncertainties make it a challenge
Getaway, leave the crib of doubt
In your hand, the power
Inside you, the great fire
Let it flare; shine and be at the top
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Have a great weekend.
Yvonne
That's lovely, Yvonne. I especially note how your choice of exhortative stance and strong verbs opening each stanza makes your poem unusually active in tenor.
Also, the phrase "crib of doubt" caught my imagination as a rather unique metaphor.
Thanks for joining us this week!
I really like the poems featured here
I was told that you guys had a hop.
I would love to participate. Is it every weekend?
Yes, we hop every weekend, and you're always welcome...
JULY 19, ME
.only mosquitoes and a piano remain
a July night seeming as though it was empty
But I know nothing of it
I pass through forget take out the key
I know emptiness is also impossible
I sweat looking at myself
Unsure whether I really know
or maybe I really don’t know
About the beasts of July I’ve said too much
the insect-repellent incense has turned to ash the piano is patient
I’ve spoken too much of myself
In the elevator I am empty no one
Yan Jun.
Have heard of though, not taken part in poetry bombing although I regularly spam people with poetry via their comments box.
But you know about that ;~)
And I do entreat you to continue with your virtual poetry bombing expeditions!
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