Sunday, February 12, 2017

Three Poems about the Nature of Life

Still Sing
by Carmine Giordano

At this final place, 
the leaves late and wan, 
our days turned to winter,
we know the brutal answers 
to those questions:
the given reason, the point of it-
all unsatisfactory,
and see the bothered eyes 
and the clenched teeth
behind the quick smiles
of those we disturb,
and know that no one 
beyond the woman 
in which we grew 
will ever again love us 
quite the way we want,
and that we are always other, 
always the intruder, 
barely wanted, barely able 
to explain or understand 
who we are,
and that we go the whole thing 
absolutely alone 
making whatever imagined purpose, 
relevance or providence we choose 
out of the course of our time,
one thing mattering 
no more really
than any other thing 
we might have chosen,
and yet, and yet,
even so, amazing, (Amazing!)
we go on and play it out, 
walk the day as it spins, 
take in the breeze, 
tan our skin in the sun,
or sometimes
face the freezing rain-
but still laugh, still sing, 
live it out fully-
amazing, amazing-
"this brief turn of the clock,
this proud march,

*                    *                    *

by Henry Van Dyke

Time is too slow for those who wait,

this brave little life of ours."
Time is too slow for those who wait,
Too swift for those who fear,
Too long for those who grieve,
Too short for those who rejoice,
But for those who love, time is

*                     *                    *

High Flight

by John Gillespie Magee Jr.

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds – and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Ho’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through the footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I’ve topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God

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