Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Water

   

“Nothing is softer or more flexible than water, yet nothing can resist it.”— Lao Tzu

SOURCE

“All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath.”— F. Scott Fitzgerald

           Midweek Motif ~ Water 

Those who live in an arid, desert land know too well how precious Water is though rest of the mankind has taken Water for granted. And it is a sin. Hope we don’t have to see that day when there’s “water, water everywhere, / Nor any drop to drink”.

Water plays an important role in many legends and myths in every culture all over the world. Your poem today may include everything concerned with Water from ancient times to our present day. And mythological water beings, gods, goddesses, dragons, naiads etc. are welcome.

           

Water is the elixir of our life. Let’s honor water in our lines today:

Water

by Pablo Neruda

Everything on the earth bristled, the bramble
pricked and the green thread
nibbled away, the petal fell, falling
until the only flower was the falling itself.
Water is another matter,
has no direction but its own bright grace,
runs through all imaginable colors,
takes limpid lessons
from stone,
and in those functionings plays out
the unrealized ambitions of the foam. 

135

by Emily Dickinson

Water, is taught by thirst.
Land—by the Oceans passed.
Transport—by throe—
Peace—by its battles told—
Love, by Memorial Mold—
Birds, by the Snow. 

To An Isle In The Water

by William Butler Yeats

SHY one, Shy one,
Shy one of my heart,
She moves in the firelight
pensively apart.
She carries in the dishes,
And lays them in a row.
To an isle in the water
With her would I go.
With catries in the candles,
And lights the curtained room,
Shy in the doorway
And shy in the gloom;
And shy as a rabbit,
Helpful and shy.
To an isle in the water
With her would I fly. 

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 ~ Happiness)

             

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Beginnings

               

Egg

White Hen And Chickens by Joseph Crawhall III 

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“Since when," he asked, "Are the first line and last line of any poem where the poem begins and ends?”  ― Seamus Heaney

                                                          

“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” 

― Lao Tzu                    

#1619 

Not knowing when the Dawn will come,

I open every Door,

Or has it Feathers, like a Bird,

Or Billows, like a Shore—

― Emily Dickinson

Beautiful World - In The Beginning

Midweek Motif ~ Beginnings

The question of "how to begin" has generated books upon books in every game and every field, and the answers are still not exhausted.  Yet things begin, and often before the visible and public (or private) beginning.  Consider how a flower opens.  Would you count its beginning in the bud?  in the seed?  in the idea of  a flower?  

Your Challenge: In your new poem, trace a thing, event, or action back to its true or imagined beginnings.

Casting on

The Tyger BY WILLIAM BLAKE

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies. 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 

On what wings dare he aspire? 

What the hand, dare seize the fire? 

And what shoulder, & what art, 

Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 

And when thy heart began to beat, 

What dread hand? & what dread feet? 

What the hammer? what the chain, 

In what furnace was thy brain? 

What the anvil? what dread grasp, 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

When the stars threw down their spears 

And water'd heaven with their tears: 

Did he smile his work to see? 

Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 

Tyger Tyger burning bright, 

In the forests of the night: 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

excerpt  from Elegy in Joy  By Muriel Rukeyser

We tell beginnings: for the flesh and the answer,
or the look, the lake in the eye that knows,
for the despair that flows down in widest rivers,
cloud of home; and also the green tree of grace,
all in the leaf, in the love that gives us ourselves.

The word of nourishment passes through the women,
soldiers and orchards rooted in constellations,
white towers, eyes of children: 
saying in time of war What shall we feed?
I cannot say the end.

Nourish beginnings, let us nourish beginnings.
Not all things are blest, but the
seeds of all things are blest.
The blessing is in the seed.

This moment, this seed, this wave of the sea, this look, this instant of love.
Years over wars and an imagining of peace.  Or the expiation journey
toward peace which is many wishes flaming together,
fierce pure life, the many-living home.
Love that gives us ourselves, in the world known to all
new techniques for the healing of the wound,
and the unknown world.  One life, or the faring stars.

Start Close In

by David Whyte

Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.




. . . . 
(Read the rest HERE.)























source






"Large streams from little fountains flow, 

Tall oaks from little acorns grow."





(D. Everett in The Columbian Orator, 1797)





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




(Next week Sumana’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Vision.)

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Journey

   
    “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” — Lao Tzu

SOURCE

“Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.”__ Anna Quindlin, How Reading Changed My Life

       Midweek Motif ~ Journey

Not a single atom in this universe is without a journey. Everything around you including yourself is a wayfarer. Each moment is a journey enriching us with experience.

Share with us those invaluable moments about your tour, trek, voyage, safari, pilgrimage or you might even recount your inner journey.

Even if you are a stay-at-home kind you might open your eyes to the exciting, adventurous, arduous and even traumatic journeys that are taking place all around us and write on any one of them.

A few poems for you:

Up-Hill

by Christina Rosetti

Does the road wind up-hill all the way? 

   Yes, to the very end. 

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day? 

   From morn to night, my friend. 

But is there for the night a resting-place? 

   A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. 

May not the darkness hide it from my face? 

   You cannot miss that inn. 

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? 

   Those who have gone before. 

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? 

   They will not keep you standing at that door. 

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? 

   Of labour you shall find the sum. 

Will there be beds for me and all who seek? 

   Yea, beds for all who come.

The Addict

by Anne Sexton

Sleepmonger,

deathmonger,

with capsules in my palms each night,

eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles

I make arrangements for a pint-sized journey.

I'm the queen of this condition.

I'm an expert on making the trip

and now they say I'm an addict.

Now they ask why.

WHY!       

Don't they know that I promised to die!

I'm keeping in practice.

I'm merely staying in shape.

The pills are a mother, but better,

every color and as good as sour balls.

I'm on a diet from death.

Yes, I admit

it has gotten to be a bit of a habit-

blows eight at a time, socked in the eye,

hauled away by the pink, the orange,

the green and the white goodnights.

I'm becoming something of a chemical

mixture.

that's it!

My supply

of tablets

has got to last for years and years.

I like them more than I like me.

It's a kind of marriage.

It's a kind of war where I plant bombs inside

of myself.

Yes

I try

to kill myself in small amounts,

an innocuous occupation.

Actually I'm hung up on it.

But remember I don't make too much noise.

And frankly no one has to lug me out

and I don't stand there in my winding sheet.

I'm a little buttercup in my yellow nightie

eating my eight loaves in a row

and in a certain order as in

the laying on of hands

or the black sacrament.

It's a ceremony

but like any other sport

it's full of rules.

It's like a musical tennis match where

my mouth keeps catching the ball.

Then I lie on; my altar

elevated by the eight chemical kisses.

What a lay me down this is

with two pink, two orange,

two green, two white goodnights.

Fee-fi-fo-fum-

Now I'm borrowed.

Now I'm numb.

Provisions

by Margaret Atwood

What should we have taken

with us? We never could decide

on that; or what to wear,

or at what time of

year we should make the journey

So here we are in thin

raincoats and rubber boots

On the disastrous ice, the wind rising

Nothing in our pockets

But a pencil stub, two oranges

Four Toronto streetcar tickets

and an elastic band holding a bundle

of small white filing cards

printed with important facts.

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 ~  Saints 

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Acceptance

Source

"Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like."---Lao Tzu

"I want to sing like the birds sing, not worrying about who hears or what they think."---Rumi

"A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval."---Mark Twain

""Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in the God's world by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I could not stay sober; unless I accept life completely on life's terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and my attitudes."---Dr. Paul Ohliger

Midweek Motif ~ Acceptance

Wikipedia says: Acceptance in human psychology is a person's assent to the reality of a situation, recognizing a process or condition (often a negative or uncomfortable situation) without attempting to change it or protest.

I feel Acceptance is a better word than tolerance. The word has a kinder heart; intelligence, open mind and free spirit. The word is also brave enough to embrace 'change'.

In today's world however accepting others as they are is yet an issue. People seem to forget that 'Acceptance' is key to happiness.

We are writing on Acceptance today.

Let's take a look at these wonderful poems on the theme:

Acceptance

by Robert Frost

When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below,
No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud
At what has happened. Birds, at least must know
It is the change to darkness in the sky.
Murmuring something quiet in her breast,
One bird begins to close a faded eye;
Or overtaken too far from his nest,
Hurrying low above the grove, some waif
Swoops just in time to his remembered tree.
At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe!
Now let the night be dark for all of me.
Let the night bee too dark for me to see
Into the future. Let what will be, be.'

Acceptance

by Langston Hughes

God in his infinite wisdom
Did not make me very wise -
So when my actions are stupid
They hardly take God by surprise.

The Weed

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

A weed is but an unloved flower! 
    Go dig, and prune, and guide, and wait, 
    Until it learns its high estate, 
    And glorifies some bower. 
A weed is but an unloved flower!

All sin is virtue unevolved, 
    Release the angel from the clod-- 
    Go love thy brother up to God. 
Behold each problem solved. 
    All sin is virtue unevolved.

If

by E.E.Cummings

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

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 ~ The Song of a Single Word)

Classic Poetry - (Look, It cannot be Seen by Lao Tzu)

Look, It Cannot be Seen

Look, it cannot be seen - it is beyond form.
Listen, it cannot be heard - it is beyond sound.
Grasp, it cannot be held - it is intangible.
These three are indefinable, they are one.

From above it is not bright;
From below it is not dark:
Unbroken thread beyond description.
It returns to nothingness.
Form of the formless,
Image of the imageless,
It is called indefinable and beyond imagination.

Stand before it - there is no beginning.
Follow it and there is no end.
Stay with the Tao, Move with the present.

Knowing the ancient beginning is the essence of Tao.

~ Lao Tzu

Here is a classic poem that not many may know.  We have gone a way from the old brits and english and read a bit from the father of Taosim. What are your thoughts on this poem?  What are your thoughts on Lao Tzu? Do you have any poems or anything else written by him you prefer? Please feel free to share your thoughts on either the poem or Lao Tzu in the comment section below.


Poets United posts a classic poem once weekly. We want to do this to introduce classic poets and their poems to our members. It is also a way to display different styles, genres and approaches to poetry. Our intent is to further expand the world of poetry while educating ourselves.


If you have a classic poem or set of prose you are fond of please let us know by emailing it to us at poetsunited@ymail.com