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Posts Tagged ‘Words’

Today, I am shopping for not exactly housewares but … word-wares.  I locate a shop unlike any other shop I’ve ever come across and step inside:

Wandering about it, my eyes spot Predictability on the rack in its usual conventional attire.  Alongside of it hangs Pragmatic, in basic wrinkle-free black.  Levity fills the summer rack in bright chiffon prints.

I walk down long aisles until I reach the back wall, where I come upon Frailty.  It hangs gingerly on the wall largely out of reach, though my fingers skirt its gossamer hem.

Sifting through shelves, I find Envy and Jealousy.  The cost on the price tag reads: steep.

Rumor and Hearsay lie strewn about the half price table.

I catch sight of Bitterness on the remnant table, where a pungency rises in the air.

I turn and walk back to the center, the heart of the store and find delicate crystal vases holding Hope.  Death of a loved one lies tenderly in a jar labeled Humility.

I make my way finally to a part of the store I hadn’t noticed before.  Off in a far corner and easy to pass by without ever noticing, I find a sturdy oak book shelf and a series of leather bound books entitled: Life.   They glow in every color imaginable.  Golden bookends flank each side of Life; one bookend is engraved with the word Goodness and the other with Mercy.  Sure now that this shall be my purchase, I search for the price tag and find gilded on the bottom of each bookend … free for the asking.

I leave the store, changed and humbled, knowing now that goodness and mercy shall be with me all the days of my life.  I want to tell all of you … this is yours, too … free for the asking.

 

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The Novel

writing-a-book

This poem by Denise Levertov is dedicated to all of you participating in NaNoWriMo.  Those, who beginning today and for the next 30 days, will breathe life into characters and plots and fashion the words that will illuminate them page by page — for your creativity, your willingness, your commitment and your courage, I salute you.

The Novel

A wind is blowing. The book being written
shifts, halts, pages
yellow and white drawing apart
and inching together in
new tries. A single white half sheet
skims out under the door.

And cramped in their not yet
halfwritten lives, a man and a woman
grimace in pain. Their cat
yawning its animal secret,
stirs in the monstrous limbo of erasure.
They live (when they live) in fear

of blinding, of burning, of choking under a
mushroom cloud in the year of the roach.
And they want (like us) the eternity
of today, they want this fear to be
struck out at once by a thick black
magic marker, everywhere, every page,

the whole sheets of it crushed, crackling,
and tossed in the fire
and when they were fine ashes
the stove would cool and be cleaned
and a jar of flowers would be put to stand
on top of the stove in the spring light.

Meanwhile from page to page they
buy things, acquiring the look of a
full life; they argue, make silence bitter,
plan journeys, move house, implant
despair in each other
and then in the nick of time

they save one another with tears,
remorse, tenderness—
hooked on those wonder-drugs.
Yet they do have—
don’t they—like us—
their days of grace, they

halt, stretch, a vision
breaks in on the cramped grimace,
inscape of transformation.
Something sundered begins to knit.
By scene, by sentence, something is rendered
back into life, back to the gods.

~Denise Levertov~
Poems 1960-1967

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alwaysandnever

I’ll never know why always or never
could stand in a sentence and seem
so self-assured

as if it had access to some secret intelligence
that just knew it could only ever be this way
or not this way at all

everything destroyed or worse yet
never born in a single careless breath

a heart grows hard if it listens for too long
no place for uncertainty or grace

yet something else hovers out there
beyond dogma or conviction
I know, because it’s always been that way

©heartsdeesire

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