Oliver says, "Poets are born are born not made in school. Something that is essential can't be taught, it can only be given, earned or formulated in a manner too mysterious to be picked apart. Poetry, whatever can't be taught, there is a great deal that can be and must be learned. Learning never stops because poetry is a river, and many voices travel in it all with their own light or darkness. The river is waiting for you too! " Her book, A Poetry Handbook was my Bible for so many years. I think she's an incredible poet.
Nice poem, Joy. I'm glad I experience all the same things you wrote in your poem too!
I've been doing a poem, too, each day this April with Katya's Dew Drop Inn. Now that we've reached the end of the month, I don't know where a whole month went. It has been a lot of fun.
My granddaughter gives me flack all the time about not dressing in style. I'm not a trend follower, never have been I prefer comfort over anything and that's not going to change.
Avoid answering a query; undoubtedly, it's an insult but not always.If someone asks you any question that shouldn't be asked. It crosses the limit of gentlemanship. To maintain a peaceful environment, ignoring that question is a better option.Before asking a question, the person should be conscious about self-limitations.
As a disabled person, now retired, I can honestly say I have never had to fill in a tax return. I wish I had the luxury of sufficient income at some point in my lifetime to have that necessity.
Prompt:
"Do you love this world? Do you cherish your humble and silky life? Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?"
Mary Oliver
Please respond to Mary Oliver's questions.
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Well, it is still April, the poetry month. So, here it goes:
Do I love this world,
its breath of wind
or hush of rain on stones?
Do I wake to the light and
call it a gift, though
shadows walk behind?
Well, the grass is soft
cradling my feet but
roots remember bones.
Still, the birds sing
the leaves lean in.
still I rise
in the morning, adoring
it all, even the ache
especially the ache.
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Mary Oliver is no fool as her work is honest, not just beautiful, but she notes that darker truths coexist wirh beauty and the inevitability of us being mortals. Suffering exists as the raw, wild pulse of this world. Do we adore it, or just tolerate or understand it?
At the end, after considering the paradoxes, we (I) arrive at a radical acceptance, to love life, not in spite of its terror, but including it.
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