Dinesh's photos with the keyword: Poetess

. . . . . . . . Though I go in pride and strength, I’ll come back to bed at length. Though I walk in blinded woe, Back to bed I’m bound to go. High my heart, or bowed my head, All my days but lead to bed. Up, and out, and on; and then Ever back to bed again, Summer, Winter, Spring, and Fall–– I’m a fool to rise at all! ~ "Bedroom" Dorthy Parker

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting - over and over announcing your place in the family of things. ~ Mary Oliver

…………………………………………… …………………………………………………. And even when it dies, to pass In odors so divine, As lowly spices gone to sleep, Or amulets of pine. And then to dwell in sovereign barns, And dream the days away, — The grass so little has to do, I wish I were the hay! ~ Emily Dickinson

www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMCinTCAl7s www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQBnE-PopsA

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_Ghats

But then there comes that moment rare When, for no cause that I can find, The little voices of the air Sound above all the sea and wind. The sea and wind do then obey And sighing, sighing double notes Of double basses, content to play A droning chord for the little throats— poets.org/poet/katherine-mansfield?mc_cid=db63561618&mc_eid=bd0372c859

There is no Frigate like a Book To take us Lands away Nor any Courses like a Page Of prancing Poetry -- This Traverse may the poorest take Without oppress of Toll -- How frugal is the Chariot That bears the Human Soul ~ Emily Dickinson

www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/155506/my-rock I sit on my desert rock, listen to the world’s hum. Crows and ravens caw, finches and sparrows chirp. A dog barks. Can I face the halls of judgments? . . . . . ~ Pat Mora

. . . . . . . Unclasp it like jewels, the gold still hot from your body. Empty your basket of figs. Spill your wine. That hard nugget of pain, I would suck it, cradling it on my tongue like the slick seed of pomegranate. I would lift it tenderly, as a great animal might carry a small one in the private cave of the mouth. Excerpt: Basket of Figs ~ Ellen Bass poets.org/poem/basket-figs

can be enough to make you look up at the yellowed leaves of the apple tree, the few that survived the rains and frost, shot with late afternoon sun. They glow a deep orange-gold against a blue so sheer, a single bird would rip it like silk. You may have to break your heart, but it isn’t nothing to know even one moment alive. The sound of an oar in an oarlock or a ruminant animal tearing grass. The smell of grated ginger. The ruby neon of the liquor store sign. Warm socks. You remember your mother, her precision a ceremony, as she gathered the white cotton, slipped it over your toes, drew up the heel, turned the cuff. A breath can uncoil as you walk across your own muddy yard, the big dipper pouring night down over you, and everything you dread, all you can’t bear, dissolves and, like a needle slipped into your vein— that sudden rush of the world. Ellen Bass poets.org/poem/any-common-desolation

Standing outside staring at a tree gentles our eyes We cheer to see fireflies winking again Where have our friends been all the long hours? Minds stretching beyond the field become their own skies Windows doors grow more important Look through a word swing that sentence wide open Kneeling outside to find sturdy green glistening blossoms under the breeze that carries us silently …….. ~ NAOMI SHIHAB NYE

Mindful of you the sodden earth in spring, And all the flowers that in the springtime grow, And dusty roads, and thistles, and the slow Rising of the round moon, all throats that sing The summer through, and each departing wing, And all the nests that the bared branches show, And all winds that in any weather blow, And all the storms that the four seasons bring. You go no more on your exultant feet Up paths that only mist and morning knew, Or watch the wind, or listen to the beat Of a bird’s wings too high in air to view,— But you were something more than young and sweet And fair,—and the long year remembers you. ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

What’s the use of something as unstable and diffuse as hope— the almost-twin of making do, the isotope of going on: what isn’t in the envelope just before it isn’t: the always tabled righting of the present. ~ "Hope" ~ Kay Ryan persimmontree.org/summer-2011/sixteen-poems

1. People will come and go in your life. But the person you see in the mirror will be there forever. Be kind to the person in the mirror ~ Winne the Pooh Excerpt: “Mindfulness Ireland” Facebook

There are high places that don't invite us, sharp shapes, glacier- scraped faces, whole ranges whose given names slip off. Any such relation as we try to make refuses to take. Some high lakes are not for us, some slick escarpments. I'm giddy with thinking where thinking can't stick.” Kay Rayan

Now that I know That passion warms little Of flesh in the mold, And treasure is brittle, I’ll lie here and learn How, over their ground, Trees make a long shadow And a light sound. ~ Louise Bogan (1922)

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange - The size of if made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave - They got quarters and I had half. And that orange, it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park. This is peace and contentment. It's new. The rest of the day was quiet easy. I did all the jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I'm glad I exist. "The Orange" - Windy Cope