HuffPost Readers, Hit It Home: Submit To Us A Poem That Inspires You During Hard Times
We spend a lot of time on the Living page focusing on all the different ways we can work on improving and bringing more meaning to our lives. And one of the oldest and most effective ways to do this is through art -- whether you're a veritable artiste or someone whose most famous work is still hanging on your parents refrigerator.
The best thing about art is that there's a genre for everyone; we've got a little bit of a soft spot here on Living for poetry. From the early days of the Living section, poetry has always been an important part -- starting with John Lundberg (see archive) who's remarkable ability to link poetry to current events has kept us constantly inspired, to Elizabeth Alexander, Obama's inaugural poet.
(Speaking of which, tomorrow night the Huffington Post is hosting Elizabeth Alexander at Arianna's home. We'll be sure to give you plenty of updates!)
But most of all, art - and poetry in particular - has a way of uplifting us, particularly during darker days. And we want to know which poems and/or poets do that for you? Is there a favorite poem you turn to when you need cheering up? Please let us know in the comments! We'll pull them together and share them with all of our readers on a later date -- everyone could use a little poetic love now and then.
And feel free to check out John Lundberg's posts if you're looking for some inspiration.
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You Reading This, Be Ready
Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?
Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for a time to show you some better thoughts?
When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life—
What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?
William Stafford
PARTINGS
by Linda Hogan
Torn from her far beginnings,
the moon was once earth,
a daughter whose leaving broke land to pieces.
Here is the scar of rupture,
This ocean of ancient rain
that still rises
and falls with the moon's turning dance
around her mother.
This is what it means to be mother and child,
to wear the skin of ancestors,
the mother's stolen lands
carried on the face of the other.
Earth tells her,
return all lies to their broken source,
trust in the strange science of healing.
Believe in the medicine of your own hand.
Believe that emptiness is the full
dance between us
and let it grow.
It is a road of deliverance
sure as the path Moses pulled
between the red, uncertain waters
and others followed.
Think of the place
where a continent divides
and water falls away from itself.
Think of the midwife
whose knife made two lives
where there was only one.
She had mastered the way
of beautiful partings.
It is true our lives
will betray us in the end
but life knows where it is going,
so does water,
so does blood,
and the full and endless dance of space.
St. Francis and the Sow
The bud
stands for all things,
even those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
- Galway Kinnell
Dust of Snow by Robert Frost
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
This poem has always lifted my spirits since I learned it in elementary school. It says to me that there are opportunities in every day, no matter how solemn, to find happiness and miracles and blessings.
Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver
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.
from Dream Work by Mary Oliver
published by Atlantic Monthly Press
© Mary Oliver
This one has been a popular pick. I think this is the third posting. It's a good poem.
If of thy Mortal Goods thou art bereft,
And from thy slender store two loaves alone
to thee are left,
Sell one, and with the dole
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.
Saadi,
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."
"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."
"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."
The wind left. And I wept. And I said
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you ?"
Antonio Machado, translated by Robert Bly
-------
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
~ Rumi ~
Writing poetry gives me great pleasure in hard times:
ELEVATOR
for Elizabeth Woody
1.
The doctor is friendly
on the hospital elevator
as I ride to my work shift.
But there’s a strange flickering
in the air when
he gets off.
It must be the tail of class
slithering behind him
out the door.
Why else when he leaves
would I suddenly see
the mud on my shoes
or feel a fear for my job
like a powder of fine dust
on my cheeks?
2.
The huddled group
in the lot of the Plaid Pantry
backpacks and cheap wine...
Some of them left reservations.
Some fought in Vietnam.
Some of them walked across deserts
looking for work.
The crowd gets bigger and bigger.
It spills out over the corner and
crosses the street.
When I fear that I’m losing my job
someone who is close to the streets,
someone who keeps filling with poetry
tells me
“First empty,
then full.”
Barbara LaMorticella
(published in last fall in an anthology on Poverty and Poetry put out by the Oregon State University Department of Foreign Language and Literatures-- I have the rights)
First I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
without you by my side
But I spent so many nights
thinking how you did me wrong
I grew strong
I learned how to carry on
and so you're back
from outer space
I just walked in to find you here
with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed my stupid lock
I should have made you leave your key
If I had known for just one second
you'd be back to bother me
Go on now go walk out the door
just turn around now
'cause you're not welcome anymore
weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye
you think I'd crumble
you think I'd lay down and die
Oh no, not I
I will survive
as long as i know how to love
I know I will stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
and I'll survive
I will survive
Thank you for this, it really made me giggle among all the serious, heavy poetry - and I really needed a giggle today.
I so love reading all this GREAT poetry!!!
Keep it coming.......
Gratefully,
Judith
What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body...
- Walt Whitman
Makes me realize there is so much more to life than $. Thanks for doing this Huff Post. Please do every week! We need it to counterbalance your other headlines.
I know! I keep posting and posting but this is so much more fulfilling than talking about Brad and Angie. Or the horrors of the economy and the greed of CEO's.
This Whitman was so good. I've printed a couple of these out now twice but people keep adding more I want to keep. I'm worried they'll take the post down and I'll lose these poems and won't be able to find them again.
Placid lies the surface,
Unbroken runs the seam,
Quiet laps the silver
On shores yet unredeemed.
Depths lie still and waiting
They churn a murky form.
The vortex of a human soul
Howling through its storm.
P. Pointer
My God, this is beautiful.
Chance is All We Have
By Andy Fletcher
Rise to the challenge, and walk into the night
Walk into the darkness, and walk into the night
When morning beckons, you stand braver
For you have plied the darkness
Many a man do not face their fear
Afraid they are to face their darkness
To temper their soul
To live their darkness
They wish for that morning
Upon which you have woken
But they anguish in the night
Afraid to cross over
For the darkness is danger
But what danger is there?
To live without dreams
To live trapped in the night
Send me through that darkness
And I will face its danger countless times
For I have not fear of what lurks in those shadows
I only fear the mediocrity of life unchallenged
Of standing in the shadows
Waiting for my bell to ring
A bell that only tolls for me
Upon my dying day
And if you should stand at that gate
With your life you hesitate
Remember, many a man has died without ever living
Many a man has not ever had that chance to live
You have been handed the chance
Chance is all we have
To not take that chance
Is not to live
You can punch a card and hope for a day
You can wish for tomorrow
And yes, you are alive
However, a fire burns within you
To take a chance with a dream
And that is life
Why each goal burns bright.
-REMINISCE
Ever hear a song, smell a scent
See something familiar
Or just have a certain feeling
A feeling that takes you back
Back to a time
That dreams fly to...
That memories evolve from
Thoughts of you can be so alive, so real
I feel you through me
Your prescence holding me
Your scent captures me
I reach to embrace your strength
But it's only reality who is there
And I Thank God
I have heard a song
Smelled a scent
Gone back.
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