Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Vision

     

“Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.”__ Jonathan Swift

SOURCE

“The greatest achievement was at first and for a time a dream. The oak sleeps in the acorn, the bird waits in the egg, and in the highest vision of the soul a waking angel stirs. Dreams are the seedlings of realities.”— James Allen

          Midweek Motif ~ Vision

Helen Keller was asked, “What would be worse than being born blind?” She replied, “The only thing worse than being blind is to have sight without vision.”

Now we can’t say that this world of ours is sight without vision because we are seeing how little ones are rising and shaming the adults. Remember the March For Our Lives marches? I feel these kids are trying to live a lifestyle matching their vision.

Let’s share our Visions on anything for today’s Midweek Motif: Vision.

I’ll share a song composed by Rabindranath Tagore. It’s his vision on a firefly:

The Firefly Song

by Rabindranath Tagore

Little firefly,    how happily    you open out those wings.

In the dark, in the twilight, in woods,  elated   you pour out your being.

             Neither the sun nor the moon you are

             But is any the less      your pleasure!

 You’ve lived to your fill    to kindle your own glowing.

What you have you have;   to none you are indebted,

To the call from the power within        you have obeyed.

             Unfettering the darkness around       up you rise,

              You’re not at all small dear      despite your tiny size.        

In all worlds    wherever light there is     you’ve made them all your own.

(Translated by Sumana Roy)

          

 Here is another Vision poem by Yeats:

The Second Coming

By William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

       

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—

                (Next week Susan’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Invention)