Sat, 04 Apr 2026 15:17:47 -0700WeeblyFri, 18 Jan 2019 02:36:39 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/snow-geese-mary-oliver

Recorded as a tribute on the day of Mary Oliver's passing, January 17, 2019. 
​
Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last! 
        What a task
            to ask 

of anything, or anyone, 
yet it is ours, 
    and not by the century or the year, but by the hours. 

One fall day I heard
    above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound
I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was 

a flock of snow geese, winging it
     faster than the ones we usually see, 
and, being the color of snow, catching the sun 

so they were, in part at least, golden. I 

held my breath
as we do
sometimes
to stop time
when something wonderful
has touched us 

as with a match, 
which is lit, and bright, 
but does not hurt
in the common way, 

but delightfully, 
as if delight
were the most serious thing
you ever felt. 

The geese
flew on, 
I have never
seen them again. 

Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.
Maybe I won't.
It doesn't matter.
What matters
is that, when I saw them, 
I saw them
as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

from Why I Wake Early, Beacon Press, 2004

]]>Fri, 18 Jan 2019 02:09:16 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/the-gift-mary-oliver
​Be still, my soul, and steadfast. 
Earth and heaven both are still watching
though time is draining from the clock
and your walk, that was confident and quick,
has become slow.

So, be slow if you must, but let
the heart still play its true part. 
Love still as once you loved, deeply
and without patience. Let God and the world
know you are grateful. 
That the gift has been given.
​

from Felicity, Penguin Press, 2015]]>Sat, 17 Mar 2018 00:36:26 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/kindness-naomi-shihab-nye
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. 
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend. ]]>Sat, 17 Mar 2018 00:19:02 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/the-guest-house-rumi
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.

​]]>Fri, 31 Mar 2017 01:31:26 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/what-is-there-beyond-knowing-mary-oliver
What is there beyond knowing that keeps
calling to me? I can't

turn in any direction
but it's there. I don't mean

the leaves' grip and shine or even the thrush's
silk song, but the far-off

fires, for example,
of the stars, heaven's slowly turning

theater of light, or the wind
playful with its breath;

or time that's always rushing forward,
or standing still

in the same—what shall I say--
moment.

What I know
I could put into a pack

as if it were bread and cheese, and carry it
on one shoulder,

important and honorable, but so small!
While everything else continues, unexplained

and unexplainable.  How wonderful it is
to follow a thought quietly

to its logical end.
I have done this a few times.

But mostly I just stand in the dark field,
in the middle of the world, breathing

in and out. Life so far doesn't have any other name
but breath and light, wind and rain.

If there's a temple, I haven't found it yet.
I simply go on drifting, in the heaven of the grass
and the weeds. 


From New and Selected PoemsVolume II, Beacon Press, 2005 
​]]>Fri, 31 Mar 2017 01:30:06 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/the-writers-life-alice-walkerDuring those times
I possess the imagination to ignore
The chaos
I live
The writer's life:
I lie in bed
Gazing out 
The window.

To my right
I notice
My neighbor
Is always painting
And repainting
His house.
To my left
My other neighbor
Speaks of too much shade
Of tearing 
Out
Our trees.

Sometimes 
I paint
My house--
Orange and apricot,
Butterscotch & plum--
Sometimes
I speak up
To save
The trees.

The days
I like best
Have
Meditation
Lovemaking
Eating scones
With my lover
In them.
Walks on the beach
Picnics in the
Hammock
That overlooks
The sea.
Hiking in the hills
Leaning on
Our
Hiking sticks.

Writers perfect
The art
Of doing nothing
So beautifully.

We know
If there is
A butterfly
Anywhere
For miles
Around
It will come
Hover
& maybe
Land
On our head.

If there is a bird
Even flying aimless
In the next
County
It will not only
Appear
Where we are
But sing.

If there is
A story
It will
Cough
In the middle
Of our
Lazy
Day
Only once
Maybe more
& announce
itself. ​

​
]]>Wed, 15 Feb 2017 01:11:36 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/self-portrait-david-whyte
It doesn't interest me if there is one God
or many gods.
I want to know if you belong or feel
abandoned.
If you know despair or can see it in others.
I want to know 
if you are prepared to live in the world
with its harsh need
to change you. If you can look back
with firm eyes
saying this is where I stand. I want to know
if you know 
how to melt into that fierce heat of living
falling toward
the center of your longing. I want to know
if you are willing
to live, day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter
unwanted passion of your sure defeat.

I have heard, in that fierce embrace, even
the gods speak of God. 


(Fire in the Earth, 1992, Many Rivers Press)]]>Wed, 15 Feb 2017 00:57:31 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/love-itself-leonard-cohen
The light came through the window,
Straight from the sun above,
And so inside my little room
There plunged the rays of Love.

In streams of light I clearly saw
The dust you seldom see,
Out of which the Nameless makes
A Name for one like me. 

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door --
Then Love Itself was gone. 

All busy in the sunlight
The flecks did float and dance,
And I was tumbled up with them
In formless circumstance. 

Then I came back from where I’d been
My room, it looked the same — 
But there was nothing left between
The Nameless and the Name. 

I’ll try to say a little more:
Love went on and on
Until it reached an open door — 
Then Love Itself was gone. 
​

(The Book of Longing, 2007)]]>Tue, 14 Feb 2017 21:21:16 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/let-it-go-ee-cummings​
let it go - the
smashed word broken 
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise - let it go it
was sworn to
go
 
let them go - the
truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers - you must let them go they
were born
to go
 
let all go - the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things - let all go
dear

so comes love


(Complete Poems 1904-1962) ]]>Fri, 20 Jan 2017 20:28:31 GMThttps://www.brookingcaldwell.com/cairns/now-you-know-the-worst-wendell-berryNow you know the worst
By Wendell Berry

To my granddaughters who visited the Holocaust Museum on the day of the burial of Yitzhak Rabin

Now you know the worst
we humans have to know
about ourselves, and I am sorry,

for I know that you will be afraid.
To those of our bodies given
without pity to be burned, I know

there is no answer
but loving one another,
even our enemies, and this is hard.

But remember:
when a man of war becomes a man of peace,
he gives a light, divine

though it is also human.
When a man of peace is killed
by a man of war, he gives a light.

You do not have to walk in darkness.
If you will have the courage for love,
you may walk in light. It will be

the light of those who have suffered
for peace. It will be
your light.

(A Timbered Choir)

http://wendellberrybooks.com/ 
]]>