Sometimes things don't go, after all,

from bad to worse. Some years, the vine

faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don't fail,

sometimes someone aims high, and all goes well.

A people sometimes will step back from war;

elect someone honest, decide they care

enough, that they can't leave some stranger poor.

Some people become what they were born for.

Sometimes our best efforts do not go

amiss, sometimes we do as we meant to.

The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow

that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.

-- Sheenagh Pugh

from “Selected Poems”, 1990

Brooding

Winter,

rising from mature darkness,

offers its faithful bidding

for brooding reflection…

a time to pause

for deep stories to find my lips,

a time to gather

around a hearth of friendship,

a time to surrender,

fully exposed,

to the north light of winter.

Curiously,

I find myself longing

for this blackness of Solstice,

for the peace it brings.

I am raw with musing,

searching deep understandings;

my life’s autumn is complete,

like a last chapter’s page

damp with ink,

drying…

ready to turn for the next.

What shards of light

are found in darkness?

What stunning stories

will a final season bring?

l sigh into deep pause,

I quiet…

my soul waits to be heard,

as I draw in replenishment

with brooding renewal,

taking in this clean, pristine

breath of my winter.

--Marilyn Loy Every, from Tending the Heart

Blackberries

In the early morning an old woman

is picking blackberries in the shade.

It will be too hot later

but right now there's dew.

Some berries fall: those are for squirrels.

Some are unripe, reserved for bears.

Some go into the metal bowl.

Those are for you, so you may taste them

just for a moment.

That's good times: one little sweetness

after another, then quickly gone.

Once, this old woman

I'm conjuring up for you

would have been my grandmother.

Today it's me.

Years from now it might be you,

if you're quite lucky.

The hands reaching in

among the leaves and spines

were once my mother's.

I've passed them on.

Decades ahead, you'll study your own

temporary hands, and you'll remember.

Don't cry, this is what happens.

Look! The steel bowl

is almost full. Enough for all of us.

The blackberries gleam like glass,

like the glass ornaments

we hang on trees in December

to remind ourselves to be grateful for snow.

Some berries occur in sun,

but they are smaller.

It's as I always told you:

the best ones grow in shadow.

--Margaret Atwood

When I Am Among The Trees

When I am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness.

I would almost say that they save me, and daily.

I am so distant from the hope of myself,

in which I have goodness, and discernment,

and never hurry through the world

but walk slowly, and bow often.

Around me the trees stir in their leaves

and call out, “Stay awhile.”

The light flows from their branches.

And they call again, “It’s simple,” they say,

“and you too have come

into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light, and to shine.”

--Mary Oliver

I Am Standing

I am standing

on the dunes

in the heat of summer

and I am listening

to mockingbird again

who is tonguing

his embellishments

and, in the distance,

the shy

weed loving sparrow

who has but one

soft song

which he sings

again and again

and something

somewhere inside

my own unmusical self

begins humming:

thanks for the beauty of the world.

Thanks for my life.

--Mary Oliver