Should He Head North

should he head North
to her
climb into bed
with her
and would that make him soon forget
these morning nightmares
and random walks through woods
where he discovers nothing once again
but more of the same superstitions
traces of empty sagas
that don’t work for luck
or anything else
you can put your finger on

would running up there
to her
straight North on 39
erase all that
or just create a whole new set
of lawless circumstances
he’d soon regret
and set him wondering why he’d ever left
the sweet sweet sunny South

stay
he said to himself
in the voice of a man
in the voice of a man inside his chest
who told him in stern tones
things were already changing
for the worse
and it was far far better
to stay right there
sitting in his faded armchair
than to risk the road again
and all its bitter disappointments

stay
and tough it out
between the cattle and the moon

but what if she goes off
and gives up the ghost
of him
forever
falls off the face of the earth
somewhere
without even a kiss good-bye
that would have to be worse
than risking the highway
one last time
surely
that would have to be much much worse

stay
and watch the next set of possibilities
arise
and fall away
what have you got to lose
but everything
piece by piece
everything
day by day

- Sam Shepard
From Day Out of Days 

Watering the Stones

Every summer I gather a few stones from
the beach and keep them in a glass bowl.
Now and again I cover them with water,
and they drink. There’s no question about
this; I put tinfoil over the bowl, tightly,
yet the water disappears. This doesn’t
mean we ever have a conversation, or that
they have the kind of feelings we do, yet
it might mean something. Whatever the
stones are, they don’t lie in the water
and do nothing.
​
Some of my friends refuse to believe it
happens, even though they’ve seen it. But
a few others-I’ve seen them walking down
the beach holding a few stones, and they
look at them rather more closely now.
Once in a while, I swear, I’ve even heard
one or two of them saying “Hello.”
Which, I think, does no harm to anyone or
anything, does it?

- Mary Oliver
From Blue Horses, 2014

At the Top

At the top of the tallest building in the world
Sat the saddest man in the world
And inside the man
Was the loneliest heart in the world
And inside the heart
Was the deepest pit in the world
And at the bottom of the pit
Was the blackest mud in the world
And in the mud lay the lightest, loveliest, tenderest,
Most beautiful, happy angel in the universe.

- Michael Leunig

The Mower

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found   
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,   
Killed. It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.   
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world   
Unmendably. Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence   
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind   
While there is still time.

- Philip Larkin

De Profundis

Oh why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat.

I would not care to reach the moon,
One round monotonous of change;
Yet even she repeats her tune
Beyond my range.

I never watch the scatter'd fire
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,
But all my heart is one desire,
And all in vain:

For I am bound with fleshly bands,
Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;
I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,
And catch at hope.

- Christina Rossetti

There's more paradise in hell than we've been told

There's more paradise in hell than we've been told
And every step we take we start from blue
Lie down and bleed into the waterhole
And so the night it will in time unfold
curled up inside my palm and sleeping too
There's more paradise in hell than we've been told
From your lashes tumble stars of gold
Starlashes
Little splashes of dew
spill across the world and through my soul
I'll call your tiny animals to the drinking hole
Little cat
Little bear
Little firehorse
Little kangaroo
There's more paradise in hell than we've been told
Little cat
Little firehorse with her shivering foal
Curled in my demon palm and dreaming too
And all across the world the night unfolds
And all across the night and through my soul
For every step we take we start from blue
Fresh tears bleed into the waterhole
There's more paradise in hell than we've been told

- Nick Cave

This is what was bequeathed us

This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.

No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.

No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.

No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.

That, and the beloved's clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.

- Gregory Orr
from How Beautiful the Beloved

Thoughts

There’s something dangerous
In being with good talkers.

The fly’s stories of his ancestors
Don’t mean much to the frog

I can't be the noisy person I am I
If you don't stop talking.

Some people talk so brilliantly
that we get small and vanish.

The shadows near that Dutch woman
Tell you that Rembrandt is a good listener.

- Robert Bly
from Morning Poems