Those mornings in winter
When the mist of Tule fog covers the Sacramento Valley
The early hours that pass like words between friends
The harvest is done
Empty fields shrouded with the mist
Dew on the grass in the warm morning sun
Mount Diablo tall in the gray distance
Summer
Singing while I walk
The mind is a Trickster, fools us
The breath is true right up to the end
Which one will you follow
We are walking, with every step our shoes caress the broken sidewalk. An old song comes to mind and when we are sure we are alone we begin to sing aloud.
James Lee Jobe
He who binds to himself a joy
Doth the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity’s sunrise.
William Blake
I consider poetry the proper speech of mankind. It doesn't argue, but convinces by its own integrity.
Alan Watts
Do not let the behavior of others destroy your inner peace.
Dalai Lama XIV
Thanks for reading today's post here at the poetry zendo. You might consider supporting this blog with a small donation through the Buy Me A Coffee link just below. Many thanks, James
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please be polite.