:| is right
Wednesday, 4 February 2009 18:14![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
extemporallywhen you see this, post your favourite poem.
I don't have a favourite, but I do like this one, very much:
The Truth The Dead Know
For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959
Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.
My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.
And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
Anne Sexton
I've been feeling rather depressed these few days - nothing much really, just a grey that's tinged with longing and regret and an impending sense of doom, and I haven't been looking forward to life as much as I usually do. Sorry, guys - especially new friends, I'm not like this all the time, I swear. Please come say hi, and tell me all about yourselves! That would cheer me up, yes. ♥
I don't have a favourite, but I do like this one, very much:
The Truth The Dead Know
For my Mother, born March 1902, died March 1959
and my Father, born February 1900, died June 1959
Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
We drive to the Cape. I cultivate
myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch. In another country people die.
My darling, the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touch
we enter touch entirely. No one's alone.
Men kill for this, or for as much.
And what of the dead? They lie without shoes
in the stone boats. They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse
to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.
Anne Sexton
I've been feeling rather depressed these few days - nothing much really, just a grey that's tinged with longing and regret and an impending sense of doom, and I haven't been looking forward to life as much as I usually do. Sorry, guys - especially new friends, I'm not like this all the time, I swear. Please come say hi, and tell me all about yourselves! That would cheer me up, yes. ♥
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Re: have a piece of the Desiderata
Date: Thursday, 5 February 2009 09:42 (UTC)Then indecision brings its own delays,
And days are lost lamenting over lost days.
Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute;
What you can do, or dream you can do, begin it;
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it.
and Rudyard Kipling's If:
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
Okay, I'm going to read the entire thing now!