I realized I haven't put any pictures with words for a long while--are you getting bored of blank screens? I went through some pictures looking for ones that reminded me of poems.
Emily Dickinson There is a solitude of space, A solitude of sea, A olitude of death, but these Society shall be, Compared with that profounder site, That polar privacy, A Sould admitted to Itself: Finite Infinity."Identity" by John Pitre "Black Rook in Rainy Weather" by Sylvia Plath On the stiff twig up there Hunches a wet black rook Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain- I do not expect a miracle Or an accident To set the sight on fire In my eye, nor seek Any more in the desultory weather some design, But let spotted leaves fall as they fall Without ceremony, or portent. Although, I admit, I desire, Occasionally, some backtalk From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain: A certain minor light may still Lean incandescent Out of kitchen table or chair As if a celestial burning took Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then -- Thus hallowing an interval Otherwise inconsequent By bestowing largesse, honor One might say love. At any rate, I now walk Wary (for it could happen Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); sceptical Yet politic, ignorant Of whatever angel any choose to flare Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook Ordering its black feathers can so shine As to seize my senses, haul My eyelids up, and grant A brief respite from fear Of total neutrality. With luck, Trekking stubborn through this season Of fatigue, I shall Patch together a content Of sorts. Miracles occur. If you care to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance Miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel, For that rare, random descent.
"Cathedral" by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law "The Mystic" by Cale Young Rice There is a quest that calls me, In nights when I am lone, The need to ride where the ways divide The Known from the Unknown. I mount what thought is near me And soon I reach the place, The tenuous rim where the Seen grows dim And the Sightless hides its face. I have ridden the wind, I have ridden the sea, I have ridden the moon and stars. I have set my feet in the stirrup seat Of a comet coursing Mars. And everywhere Thro' the earth and air My thought speeds, lightning-shod, It comes to a place where checking pace It cries, "Beyond lies God!" It calls me out of the darkness, It calls me out of sleep, "Ride! ride! for you must, to the end of Dust!" It bids -- and on I sweep To the wide outposts of Being, Where there is Gulf alone-- And thro' a Vast that was never passed I listen for Life's tone. I have ridden the wind, I have ridden the night, I have ridden the ghosts that flee From the vaults of death like a chilling breath Over eternity. And everywhere Is the world laid bare-- Ether and star and clod-- Until I wind to its brink and find But the cry, "Beyond lies God!" It calls me and ever calls me! And vainly I reply, "Fools only ride where the ways divide What Is from the Whence and Why"! I'm lifted into the saddle Of thoughts too strong to tame And down the deeps and over the steeps I find -- ever the same. I have ridden the wind, I have ridden the stars, I have ridden the force that flies With far intent thro' the firmament And each to each allies. And everywhere That a thought may dare To gallop, mine has trod-- Only to stand at last on the strand Where just beyond lies God.
"Edge of the Earth" by Stephanie Pui-Mun Law "The Song of Wandering Aengus" by William Butler Yeats I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
"Idun" by J. Penrose Rumi The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don't go back to sleep. You must ask for what you really want. Don't go back to sleep. People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch. The door is round and open. Don't go back to sleep.
"Threshold of Eternity" by Jeffrey Beddrick
