Poems Rethabile Likes

Midnight in Early Spring by W.S. Merwin Midnight in Early Spring At one moment a few old leaves come in frightened and lie down together and stop moving the nights now go in threes as in a time of danger the flies sleep like sentries on the darkened panes some alien blessing is on its way to us some prayer ignored for centuries is about to be granted to the prayerless in this place who were you cold voice born in captivity rising last martyr of hope last word of a language last son other half of grief who were you so that we may know why when the streams wake tomorrow and we are free Poet: W.S. Merwin Source: @MerwinConservancy Books: @AbeBooks Some alien blessing is on i...

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. Poet: Robert Frost Source: @PoetryFoundation Books: @AbeBooks To watch...

Wanting To Die by Anne Sexton Wanting To Die Since you ask, most days I cannot remember. I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage. Then the almost unnameable lust returns. Even then I have nothing against life. I know well the grass blades you mention, the furniture you have placed under the sun. But suicides have a special language. Like carpenters they want to know which tools. They never ask why build. Twice I have so simply declared myself, have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy, have taken on his craft, his magic. In this way, heavy and thoughtful, warmer than oil or water, I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole. I did not think of my body at needle point. Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone. Suicides have already betrayed the b...

Witness by Ellen Rowland Witness There is a small stubborn leaf—no, two— clinging to the wind-stripped mulberry tree. Each twirls and dangles by an invisible thread at the very tip of the longest reaching branch, like suspended aerialists about to unravel their silks. Any minute now—any second, really—one or both will give way to the slightest nudge of a breeze, a gentle palm at the small of the back, and pirouette to the ground. Even as I notice them, willing them to hang on, I realize what a miracle it is to witness the handing over of one season to the next in that brief moment between dark and light before day takes its first breath. Poet: Ellen Rowland Source: @StephanieCarneySubstack ...

First They Came by Martin Niemöller First They Came First they came for the Communists And I did not speak out Because I was not a Communist Then they came for the Socialists And I did not speak out Because I was not a Socialist Then they came for the trade unionists And I did not speak out Because I was not a trade unionist Then they came for the Jews And I did not speak out Because I was not a Jew Then they came for me And there was no one left To speak out for me Poet: Martin Niemöller Source: United States Holocaust Memorial Museum Books: @AbeBooks I did not speak out because I was not a Communist. ...

Season’s Wishes As the year slows its pace, may this season offer space to breathe, moments of quiet clarity, and time well spent with what matters most. May warmth replace hurry, kindness shape our days, and the coming year begin with steadier hope and gentle resolve. ✶ Souhaits de fin d’année Quand l’année touche à sa pause, que cette saison apporte du recul, des instants simples et sincères, et une lumière douce sur le chemin parcouru. Que la sérénité remplace la hâte, que la bienveillance guide les jours à venir, et que la nouvelle année commence avec équilibre et clarté. ✶ Litakaletso tsa Mafelo a Selemo Ha selemo se atamela pheletsong, e se eka nako ena e ka tlisa khutso, menahano e hlakileng, le kananelo ea leeto le fetileng. E se eka mof...

Tell Me by Julia Carter Aldrich Tell Me Tell me: does the mountain remember being larded with blasting powder? Is there caught in the throats of tapped out mines memory of the grind of iron claw on granite, the throb of engines with their haul, trod of oxen, grunt of men? What of the weird and waiting silence when the mineralogists had gone back home? The rusted cranes, their bent and broken backs, abandoned. Stone pylons hollow, with their fire gone cold. Is there, from these, no breath at all? Tell me: does the river remember what is gone? Night laughter from long-leveled shanties, paddys, guineas, hunkies, polaks, and squareheads. Some died, some stayed, most of them moved on. As for the forests: do the killed wolves sing? Do they mind their wild-haired beauty f...

Sailing to Byzantium by William Butler Yeats Sailing to Byzantium That is no country for old men. The young In one another’s arms, birds in the trees, Those dying generations, at their song; The salmon−falls, the mackerel−crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing−school ...

“The Artist Orpheus” by Donald Justice “The Artist Orpheus” It was a tropical landscape, much like Florida’s, which he knew. (Childhood came blazing back at him.) They glided across a black And apathetic river which reflected nothing back Except his own face sinking gradually from view As in a fading photograph. Not that he meant to stay, But, yes, he would play something for them, played Ravel; And sang; and for the first time there were tears in hell. (Sunset continued. Years passed, or a day.) And the shades relented finally and seemed sorry. He could have sworn then he did not look back, That no one had been following on his track, Only the thing was that it made a better story To say that he had heard a sigh perhaps And once or twice the sound a twig makes when it ...

Facing It by Yusef Komunyakaa Facing It My black face fades, hiding inside the black granite. I said I wouldn’t, dammit: No tears. I’m stone. I’m flesh. My clouded reflection eyes me like a bird of prey, the profile of night slanted against morning. I turn this way—the stone lets me go. I turn that way—I’m inside the Vietnam Veterans Memorial again, depending on the light to make a difference. I go down the 58,022 names, half-expecting to find my own in letters like smoke. I touch the name Andrew Johnson; I see the booby trap’s white flash. Names shimmer on a woman’s blouse but when she walks away the names stay on the wall. Brushstrokes flash, a red bird’s wings cutting across my stare. The sky. A plane in the sky. A white vet’s image floats closer to me, then his...

Mercy by Tyehimba Jess Mercy The war speaks at night with its lips of shredded children, with its brow of plastique and its fighter jet breath, and then it speaks at daybreak with the soft slur of money unfolding leaf upon leaf. It speaks between the news programs in the music of commercials, then sings in the voices of a national anthem. It has a dirty coin jingle in its step, it has a hand of many lost hands, a palm of missing fingers, the stump of an arm that it lost reaching up to heaven, a foot that digs a trench for its dead. The war staggers forward, compelled, inexorable, ticking. It looks to me with its one eye of napalm and one eye of ice, with its hair of fire and its nuclear heart, and yes, it is so human and so pitiful as it stands there, waiting for my...

Remember by Joy Harjo Remember Remember the sky that you were born under, know each of the star’s stories. Remember the moon, know who she is. Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the strongest point of time. Remember sundown and the giving away to night. Remember your birth, how your mother struggled to give you form and breath. You are evidence of her life, and her mother’s, and hers. Remember your father. He is your life, also. Remember the earth whose skin you are: red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth brown earth, we are earth. Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them, listen to them. They are alive poems. Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the origin of ...