This from my favorite poet, Billy Collins, from his book, "The Art of Drowning." Support your favorite poets. This Christmas, give your friends books of poetry along with the usual poinsettia.
Days
Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.
Today begins cold and bright,
the ground heavy with snow
and the thick masonry of ice,
the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds.
Through the calm eye of the window
everything is in its place
but so precariously
this day might be resting somehow
on the one before it,
all the days of the past stacked high
like the impossible tower of dishes
entertainers used to build on stage.
No wonder you find yourself
perched on the top of a tall ladder
hoping to add one more.
Just another Wednesday
you whisper,
then holding your breast,
place this cup on yesterday's saucer
without the slightest clink.
Sunday, December 04, 2011
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5 comments:
Billy Collins sings to me. I shall take this poem to Poetry Night, way out here in Oklahoma.
If Billy Collins were a baseball player, he'd be hitting each ball out of the park - beautiful!
Yeah, he is pretty wonderful. Now, if you're making up your Christmas lists for friends, do keep Billy's books in mind. Many are in paperbook and so affordable.
Yeah, he is pretty wonderful. Now, if you're making up your Christmas lists for friends, do keep Billy's books in mind. Many are in paperbook and so affordable.
Gaaaghhh, Am still working the bugs out of my new Windows 7 and obviously the things still isn't working right. Am waiting for another piece to be installed. Hopefully that'll speed things up and avoid stuff like the above I see Everything TWICE.
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