December… wishing you peace

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December

 

 

this is the time of ice, of hungry birds,

give broken bread so they may come –

crows slip on the tops of walls,

puffed pigeon risk a cat-watched lawn

 

everything

( whisper it )

is about

loving

and

not-loving

 

this is a time of dilemmas

whether to give or not,

does it matter or not,

looking for meaning

 

everything

( remember it )

is about loving

and not-loving.

 

 

Poem and photograph Rose Cook

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This is just to say…peace to all today on international peace day and every day

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When They Sleep      by Rolf Jacobsen

(English version by Robert Hedin)

All people are children when they sleep.
there’s no war in them then.
They open their hands and breathe
in that quiet rhythm heaven has given them.
They pucker their lips like small children
and open their hands halfway,
soldiers and statesmen, servants and masters.
The stars stand guard
and a haze veils the sky,
a few hours when no one will do anybody harm.
If only we could speak to one another then
when our hearts are half-open flowers.
Words like golden bees
would drift in.
— God, teach me the language of sleep.

photo Rose Cook

 

Thanks to summer

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Holiday Tuesday

 

 

Thanks for this day, which woke with sun

and rabbits in the field,

thanks for sleep and toast, surf spray, sandy towels,

children running to the sea light-footed,

my family playing in the waves,

all the people loving a wide beach,

the space, warm air,

our baby asleep in the shade.

Thanks for her hand, clenched,

for apples, pitta bread, juicy tomatoes.

Thanks for stones and shells, rock-pools,

blue umbrellas, buckets, joy.

The sand martins fly into their holes,

a plane tugs a banner along the sky.

It should say: Thanks for it all. Thanks.

 

poem and photo Rose Cook

for National Poetry Day Thursday October 8th 2015 – the theme is Light

Daily Light                  by gray wolf

Morning Light I welcome thine into mine day bring forth thous light warming thous heart that glazes upon thine!

 

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The Changing Light                                         by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

 

The changing light
at San Francisco
is none of your East Coast light
none of your
pearly light of Paris
The light of San Francisco
is a sea light
an island light
And the light of fog
blanketing the hills
drifting in at night
through the Golden Gate
to lie on the city at dawn
And then the halcyon late mornings
after the fog burns off
and the sun paints white houses
with the sea light of Greece
with sharp clean shadows
making the town look like
it had just been painted

But the wind comes up at four o’clock
s weeping the hills

And then the veil of light of early evening

And then another scrim
when the new night fog
floats in
And in that vale of light
the city drifts
anchorless upon the ocean

 

 

photo Rose Cook