Inspiration: Poems
Poem: “She Asked Me To Kill The Spider,” by Rudy Francisco
She asked me to kill the spider. Instead, I get the most peaceful weapons I can find. I take a cup & a napkin, I catch the spider, put it outside and allow it to walk away. If I am ever caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, just being alive and not bothering...
Poem: “Care,” by Craig Santos Perez
My 16-month old daughter wakes from her nap and cries. I pick her up, press her against my chest and rub her back until my palm warms like an old family quilt. “Daddy’s here, daddy’s here,” I whisper. Here is the island of Oʻahu, 8,500 miles from Syria. But what if...
Poem: “When I Am Among the Trees,” by Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees, especially the willows and the honey locust, equally the beech, the oaks and the pines, they give off such hints of gladness. I would almost say that they save me, and daily. I am so distant from the hope of myself, in which I have goodness,...
Poem: “When They Sleep,” by Rolf Jacobsen
All people are children when they sleep.there's no war in them then.They open their hands and breathein that quiet rhythm heaven has given them.They pucker their lips like small childrenand open their hands halfway,soldiers and statesmen, servants and masters.The...
Poem: “There is a brokenness,” by Rashani Réa
There is a brokennessout of which comes the unbroken,a shatterednessout of which blooms the unshatterable.There is a sorrowbeyond all grief which leads to joyand a fragilityout of whose depths emerges strength.There is a hollow space too vast for wordsthrough which we...
Poem: “Instructions,” by Rudy Francisco
gatheryour mistakes,rinse them withhonesty and selfreflection,let dry until youcan see every choiceand the regretbecomes brittlecover theentire surfacein forgiveness.remind yourself thatyou are humanand this toois a gift
Poem: “Things to Think,” by Robert Bly
Think in ways you’ve never thought beforeIf the phone rings, think of it as carrying a messageLarger than anything you’ve ever heard,Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,Maybe wounded and deranged: or think that a...
Poem: ” One Morning,” by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
One morningwe will wake up and forget to buildthat wall we’ve been building,the one between usthe one we’ve been buildingfor years, perhapsout of some senseof right and boundary,perhaps out of habit.One morningwe will wake upand let our empty handshang empty at our...
Poem: “Keeping Things Whole,” by Mark Strand
In a fieldI am the absenceof field.This isalways the case.Wherever I amI am what is missing.When I walkI part the airand alwaysthe air moves into fill the spaceswhere my body's been.We all have reasonsfor moving.I moveto keep things whole.
Poem: “To the Indifferent Women,” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
A Sestina You who are happy in a thousand homes, Or overworked therein, to a dumb peace; Whose souls are wholly centered in the life Of that small group you personally love; Who told you that you need not know or care About the sin and sorrow of the world? Do you...
Poem: “Start Close In,” by David Whyte
Start close in,don't take the second stepor the third,start with the firstthingclose in,the step you don't want to take.Start withthe groundyou know,the pale groundbeneath your feet,your ownway of startingthe conversation.Start with your ownquestion,give up on...
Poem: “The Work Happening in the Background,” by Frank Owen
If you awake in the morning and don't remember,some part of the horse-spirit that is your soulmay still be out collecting evidence.While you go through the motions of your daily circuit,a deeper part of you may still be engagedwith the important business of...
Poem: “What They Did Yesterday Afternoon,” by Warsan Shire
they set my aunts house on fire i cried the way women on tv do folding at the middle like a five pound note. i called the boy who used to love me tried to ‘okay’ my voice i said hello he said warsan, what’s wrong, what’s happened? i’ve been praying, and these are...
Poem: “Forget About Enlightenment,” by John Welwood
Forget about enlightenment.Sit down wherever you areAnd listen to the wind singing in your veins.Feel the love, the longing, and the fear in your bones.Open your heart to who you are, right now,Not who you would like to be.Not the saint you’re striving to become.But...
Poem: “The Larger Circle,” by Wendell Berry
We clasp the hands of those that go before us, And the hands of those who come after us. We enter the little circle of each other's arms And the larger circle of lovers, Whose hands are joined in a dance, And the larger circle of all creatures, Passing in and out of...
Poem: “Wheat,” by Ishihara Yoshiro
Let a stalk of wheatbe your witnessto every difficult day.Since it was a flamebefore it was a plant,since it was couragebefore it was grain,since it was determinationbefore it was growth,and, above all, since it was prayerbefore it was fruition,it has nothing to point...
Poem: “Ode to the Unbroken World, Which Is Coming,” by Thomas Lux
It must be coming, mustn’t it? Churches and saloons are filled with decent humans. A mother wants to feed her daughter, fathers to buy their children things that break. People laugh, all over the world, people laugh. We were born to laugh, and we know how to be sad;...
Poem: “If we have no compassion,” by Wendell Berry
If we have become a people incapable of thought, then the brute-thought of mere power and mere greed will think for us. If we have become incapable of denying ourselves anything, then all that we have will be taken from us. If we have no compassion, we will suffer...
Poem: “The Real Work,” by Wendell Berry
It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come to our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to go we have come to our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings
Poem: “About Standing (in Kinship),” by Kimberly Blaeser
We all have the same little bones in our foot twenty-six with funny names like navicular. Together they build something strong— our foot arch a pyramid holding us up. The bones don’t get casts when they break. We tape them—one phalange to its neighbor for support....
Poem: “Musee des Beaux Arts,” by W. H. Auden
About suffering they were never wrong, The old Masters: how well they understood Its human position: how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along; How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting For the...