How It Seems To Me

by Ursula K. Le Guin

In the vast abyss before time, self

is not, and soul commingles
with mist, and rock, and light. In time,
soul brings the misty self to be.
Then slow time hardens self to stone
while ever lightening the soul,
till soul can loose its hold of self
and both are free and can return
to vastness and dissolve in light,
the long light after time.

Ozymandias
by Percy Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Ode to a Nightingale
by John Keats

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Wherewith the seasonable month endows
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
But being too happy in thine happiness,— White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
In some melodious plot And mid-May's eldest child,
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease. The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.

O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Tasting of Flora and the country green, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! To take into the air my quiet breath;
O for a beaker full of the warm South, Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
And purple-stained mouth; In such an ecstasy!
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
And with thee fade away into the forest dim: To thy high requiem become a sod.

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
What thou among the leaves hast never known, No hungry generations tread thee down;
The weariness, the fever, and the fret The voice I hear this passing night was heard
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
And leaden-eyed despairs, The same that oft-times hath
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Already with thee! tender is the night, Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
But here there is no light, In the next valley-glades:
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?
The Windhover
by G.M. Hopkins

I caught this morning morning's minion, king-

dom of daylight's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion

Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

“Although the wind ...”

by Izumi Shikibu (translated by Jane Hirshfield)

Although the wind

blows terribly here,
the moonlight also leaks
between the roof planks
of this ruined house.
Winter
by Holly Black

Like coughing a bite of apple from a slender throat

Like a grandmother reborn from a wolf's belly
Like slipping a foot into a glass shoe
Like a frog prince thrown against a wall
We slough off the skin of the old year
And wait for what's underneath to toughen.

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history You may shoot me with your words,
With your bitter, twisted lies, You may cut me with your eyes,
You may trod me in the very dirt You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like dust, I'll rise. But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you? Does my sexiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom? Does it come as a surprise
’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells That I dance like I've got diamonds
Pumping in my living room. At the meeting of my thighs?

Just like moons and like suns, Out of the huts of history’s shame
With the certainty of tides, I rise
Just like hopes springing high, Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
Still I'll rise. I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Did you want to see me broken? Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Weakened by my soulful cries? I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
Does my haughtiness offend you? I rise
Don't you take it awful hard Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
Diggin’ in my own backyard. I rise
I rise
I rise.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
by William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
If I Must Die
by Refaat Alareer

If I must die,
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze—
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself—
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
let it be a tale
On the Ning Nang Nong Luv Song
by Spike Milligan by Benjamin Zephaniah

On the Ning Nang Nong I am in luv wid a hedgehog

Where the Cows go Bong! I’ve never felt this way before
and the monkeys all say BOO! I have luv fe dis hedgehog
There’s a Nong Nang Ning An everyday I luv her more an more,
Where the trees go Ping! She lives by de shed
And the teapots jibber jabber joo. Where weeds and roses bed
On the Nong Ning Nang An I just want de world to know
All the mice go Clang She makes me glow.
And you just can’t catch ’em when they do!
So it’s Ning Nang Nong I am in luv wid a hedgehog
The cows go Bong! She’s making me hair stand on edge,
Nong Nang Ning So in luv wid dis hedgehog
The trees go Ping! An her friends
Nong Ning Nang Who all live in de hedge
The mice go Clang! She visits me late
What a noisy place to belong An eats off Danny’s plate
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!! But Danny’s a cool tabby cat
He leaves it at dat.

I am in luv wid a hedgehog,

She’s gone away so I must wait
But I do miss my hedgehog
Everytime she goes to hibernate.
little tree
by e.e cummings

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest

and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark

and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don't be afraid

look the spangles

that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms

and i'll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you're quite dressed

you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!
oh but you'll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands

and looking up at our beautiful tree
we'll dance and sing
'Noel Noel'
The Down
by Zoe Savvidou

Dearly I would away down downs and downy vales,

Down doe-tracked footpaths in the green-daubed dawn,
Where wind-cold force the tree-head backward hurls,
And holds the human figure pinned in unmerciful
Ecstatic pause; where wind-tossed leaves mock
The wind-torn human mind, worn by gnawing doubt,
Wind-borne to the waiting grave on the unfurled downs,
In the ruffled downy vales.

Down-town who hears how near the wind blows?

Life-song so low is lost
Below the raucous cry of soulless crows.
There is no essence in discussion.
In the town, there is no up, there is no down,
But a maze of complex highways
Masks the simple structure of the Downs.
Ithaka
By C. P. Cavafy

As you set out for Ithaka Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
hope your road is a long one, Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
full of adventure, full of discovery. But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops, Better if it lasts for years,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them: so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
you’ll never find things like that on your way wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body. Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops, Without her you wouldn't have set out.
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them She has nothing left to give you now.
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you. And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled
you.
Hope your road is a long one. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
May there be many summer mornings when, you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas
with what pleasure, what joy, mean.
you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.
The King's Breakfast
by A.A. Milne
The King asked The Queen said The Queen said,
The Queen, and "Oh!: "There, there!"
The Queen asked And went to And went to
The Dairymaid: His Majesty: The Dairymaid.
"Could we have some butter for "Talking of the butter for The Dairymaid
The Royal slice of bread?" The royal slice of bread, Said, "There, there!"
The Queen asked the Dairymaid, Many people And went to the shed.
The Dairymaid Think that The cow said,
Said, "Certainly, Marmalade "There, there!
I'll go and tell the cow Is nicer. I didn't really
Now Would you like to try a little Mean it;
Before she goes to bed." Marmalade Here's milk for his porringer,
Instead?" And butter for his bread."
The Dairymaid
She curtsied, The King said, The Queen took
And went and told "Bother!" The butter
The Alderney: And then he said, And brought it to
"Don't forget the butter for "Oh, deary me!" His Majesty;
The Royal slice of bread." The King sobbed, "Oh, deary me!" The King said,
The Alderney And went back to bed. "Butter, eh?"
Said sleepily: "Nobody," And bounced out of bed.
"You'd better tell He whimpered, "Nobody," he said,
His Majesty "Could call me As he kissed her
That many people nowadays A fussy man; Tenderly,
Like marmalade I only want "Nobody," he said,
Instead." A little bit As he slid down the banisters,
Of butter for "Nobody,
The Dairymaid My bread!" My darling,
Said, "Fancy!" Could call me
And went to A fussy man -
Her Majesty. BUT
She curtsied to the Queen, and I do like a little bit of butter to my bread!"
She turned a little red:
"Excuse me,
Your Majesty,
For taking of
The liberty,
But marmalade is tasty, if
It's very
Thickly
Spread."
Jabberwocky
by Lewis Carroll

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Remember
by Christina Rossetti

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.

Sonnet 116
By William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
The Tyger Coffee in Heaven
By William Blake by John Agard

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, You’ll be greeted

In the forests of the night; by a nice cup of coffee
when you get to heaven
What immortal hand or eye,
and strains of angelic harmony.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
But wouldn’t you be devastated
In what distant deeps or skies. if they only serve decaffeinated
Burnt the fire of thine eyes? while from the percolators of hell
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire? your soul was assaulted
by Satan’s fresh espresso smell?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
The Road Goes Ever On
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain? by J.R.R. Tolkien
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
The Road goes ever on and on
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
When the stars threw down their spears And I must follow, if I can,
And water'd heaven with their tears: Pursuing it with eager feet,
Did he smile his work to see? Until it joins some larger way
Did he who made the Lamb make thee? Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

Tyger Tyger burning bright,

In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
On the thirteenth day of Christmas my true love
phoned me up . . .
by Dave Calder

Well, I suppose I should be grateful, you’ve obviously gone

to a lot of trouble and expense – or maybe off your head.
Yes, I did like the birds – the small ones anyway were fun
if rather messy, but now the hens have roosted on my bed
and the rest are nested on the wardrobe. It’s hard to sleep
with all that cooing, let alone the cackling of the geese
whose eggs are everywhere, but mostly in a broken smelly heap
on the sofa. No, why should I mind? I can’t get any peace
anywhere – the lounge is full of drummers thumping tom-toms
and sprawling lords crashed out from manic leaping. The
kitchen is crammed with cows and milkmaids and smells of a million stink-bombs
and enough sour milk to last a year. The pipers? I’d forgotten them –
they were no trouble, I paid them and they went. But I can’t get rid
of these young ladies. They won’t stop dancing or turn the music down
and they’re always in the bathroom, squealing as they skid
across the flooded floor. No, I don’t need a plumber round,
it’s just the swans – where else can they swim? Poor things,
I think they’re going mad, like me. When I went to wash my
hands one ate the soap, another swallowed the gold rings.
And the pear tree died. Too dry. So thanks for nothing,
love. Goodbye.
Y Llwynog
by R. Williams Parry

Ganllath o gopa’r mynydd, pan oedd clych

Eglwysi’r llethrau’n gwahodd tua’r llan,
Ac annrheuliedig haul Gorffennaf gwych
Yn gwahodd tua’r mynydd, – yn y fan,
Ar ddiarwybod droed a distaw duth,
Llwybreiddiodd ei ryfeddod prin o’n blaen
Ninnau heb ysgog ac heb ynom chwyth
Barlyswyd ennyd; megis trindod faen
Y safem, pan ar ganol diofal gam
Syfrdan y safodd yntau, ac uwchlaw
Ei untroed oediog dwy sefydlog fflam
Ei lygaid arnom. Yna heb frys na braw
Llithrodd ei flewyn cringoch dros y grib;
Digwyddodd, darfu, megis seren wîb.

Triumph of the Heart

by David Thorpe

It's not the will

to go where the wind rises
over the shadowy cypress trees.

Nor the blood

where it runs along the veins
of the moon like a sentry.

It's an opening
facing the sky, feet running
to the sea, eyes like a river.

The worm thanks the thrush

for making it fly. Together
they sing, of the pain love brings.