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applegrove

(118,629 posts)
Wed May 6, 2015, 09:45 PM May 2015

My new favourite poem. "Sleeping in the Forest" by Mary Oliver. What is your favourite?

Sleeping in the Forest

http://peacefulrivers.homestead.com/maryoliver.html#anchor_14789



I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.



from Sleeping In The Forest by Mary Oliver


© Mary Oliver

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My new favourite poem. "Sleeping in the Forest" by Mary Oliver. What is your favourite? (Original Post) applegrove May 2015 OP
That's lovely. My favorite is much creepier: The Velveteen Ocelot May 2015 #1
"Things fall apart;" "the centre cannot hold;" It is amazing how much poetry influences titles. I've applegrove May 2015 #2

The Velveteen Ocelot

(115,681 posts)
1. That's lovely. My favorite is much creepier:
Wed May 6, 2015, 09:48 PM
May 2015


THE SECOND COMING - 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: a waste of desert sand;
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
Wind 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?

applegrove

(118,629 posts)
2. "Things fall apart;" "the centre cannot hold;" It is amazing how much poetry influences titles. I've
Wed May 6, 2015, 09:54 PM
May 2015

never read much poetry...me being a form type person, not a language one. I think I may have to partake more often.

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