Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, April 30, 2012

Maybe a Proselyte

© Mama Zen Photography
Maybe I'm just moonstruck
but the color of your eyes could inspire a religion
and I could write a hymn
to every laugh line when you smile
Maybe it's just the moonlight
that has softened our faces
and given us a glow
but when I'm with you I feel like I'm still a kid
Maybe it makes dogs howl like wolves
Maybe it unites lovers
Maybe it incites lunacy
Maybe it's just a moon
but when I feel my heart race like this
I am a proselyte.

The Girl Who Swallowed the Moon

The Moon by Emhain

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Don't Let Them Steal Your Wonder

Deep blue by buleria
 Don't let them steal your wonder
Don't let them get you down
If you feel you're goin' under
Kick out hard and you won't drown
Don't you let them make you jaded
Don't you let them make you cold
It's their own souls they have traded
and their hearts that they have sold
They just want to make you smaller
They just want to make you crawl
They've forgotten how to rise up
so they need to make you fall
Don't let them steal your wonder
Be protective of your dream
When they tell you to be quiet
That's the time you have to scream.

Is That a Poem In Your Pocket?

Today is National Poem In Your Pocket Day! The idea is simple: select a poem you love during National Poetry Month (April) then carry it with you to share with co-workers, family, and friends. You can also share your poem selection on Twitter by using the hashtag #pocketpoem.

I found this little ditty last year and thought it was just-so-perfect!

Here’s to the Mice!

Here’s to the mice that scare the lions,
Creeping into their cages.
Here’s to the fairy mice that bite
The elephants fat and wise:
Hidden in the hay-pile while the elephant thunder rages.
Here’s to the scurrying, timid mice
Through whom the proud cause dies.

Here’s to the seeming accident
When all is planned and working,
All the flywheels turning,
Not a vassal shirking.
Here’s to the hidden tunneling thing
That brings the mountain’s groans.
Here’s to the midnight scamps that gnaw,
Gnawing away the thrones.

Vachel Lindsay