Leafy-with-love banks and the green waters of the canal
Pouring redemption for me, that I do
the will of God, wallow in the habitual, the banal,
dance
Posted on by James Woodward
To fling my arms wide
In some place of the sun,
To whirl and to dance
Till the white day is done.
Then rest at cool evening Beneath a
eyes
Posted on by James Woodward
Love is the cure.
Your pain will keep giving birth to more pain.
Just let your eyes breathe out love
as easily as a flower breathes out its swe
awakened, lips parted
Posted on by James Woodward
This form, this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me;
let me Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
Church Going by Philip Larkin
Posted on by James Woodward
Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; spraw
dark
Posted on by James Woodward
Like the water
of a deep stream, love is always too much. We
did not make it. Though we drink till we burst
we cannot have it all, or want it
light
Posted on by James Woodward
A poet is someone
who can pour
light
into a cup,
then raise it
to nourish
your beautiful,
parched,
and holy heart.
Hafiz
decline
Posted on by James Woodward
one day a day woke up and
was sky, air, light
and itself. Later, evening
tapped my shoulder:
a reminder, a privilege,
a job to do. Record, it said
Church Going
Posted on by James Woodward
Once I am sure there's nothing going on
I step inside, letting the door thud shut.
Another church: matting, seats, and stone,
And little books; spra
wild flower
Posted on by James Woodward
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.
From William Bla
radiant
Posted on by James Woodward
The middle region of the sky, where spirit lives, is radiant with the music of light;
There, where the pure white music blossoms, God lives,
crocuses
Posted on by James Woodward
Spring is the Period
Express from God.
Among the other seasons
Himself abide,
But during March and April
None stir abroad
Without a cordial inter
fire
Posted on by James Woodward
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its
Until I Was Nearly Fifty
Posted on by James Woodward
Until I was
Nearly fifty
I rarely thought
Of age
But now
As I approach
Becoming
An elder
I find I want
To give all
That I know
To youth.
Those who s
light
Posted on by James Woodward
A poet
is someone
who can pour light
into a cup
then offer it
to refresh
your beautiful
parched
and
holy
heart.
Hafiz
peace
Posted on by James Woodward
THE PEACE of great doors be for you.
Wait at the knobs, at the panel oblongs.
Wait for the great hinges.
The peace of great churches be for you,
Wh
generosity
Posted on by James Woodward
Lord, said David, since you do not need us,
why did you create these two worlds?
Reality replied: O prisoner of time,
I was a secret treasure of
not to the play, but to itself
Posted on by James Woodward
The poem of the mind in the act of finding
What will suffice.
It has to be living, to learn the speech of the place.
It has to construct a ne
DON’T BE JUST A VISITOR TO THIS WORLD
Posted on by James Woodward
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it's over,
to express the sky
Posted on by James Woodward
This is the grass your feet are planted on.
You paint it orange or you sing it green,
But you have never found
A way to make the grass mean what y