"It's called my practice-
not my perfection," said I
unrolling my mat.
"It's called my practice-
not my perfection," said I
floating my feet up.
"It's called my practice-
not my perfection," said I
teetering on one leg.
"It's called my practice-
not my perfection," said I
nose touching my knees.
"It's called my practice-
not my perfection," said I.
~Janice Hunter
Monday, December 7, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Weekly Reading
My Life
Somehow it got into my room.
I found it, and it was, naturally, trapped.
It was nothing more than a frightened animal.
Since than I raised it up.
I kept it for myself, kept it in my room,
kept it for its own good.
I named the animal, My Life.
I found food for it and fed it with my bare hands.
I let it into my bed, let it breathe in my sleep.
And the animal, in my love, my constant care,
grew up to be strong, and capable of many clever tricks.
One day, quite recently,
I was running my hand over the animal's side
and I came to understand
that it could very easily kill me.
I realized, further, that it would kill me.
This is why it exists, why I raised it.
Since then I have not known what to do.
I stopped feeding it,only to find that its growth
has nothing to do with food.
I stopped cleaning it
and found that it cleans itself.
I stopped singing it to sleep
and found that it falls asleep faster without my song.
I don't know what to do.
I no longer make My Life do tricks.
I leave the animal alone
and, for now, it leaves me alone, too.
I have nothing to say, nothing to do.
Between My Life and me,
a silence is coming.
Together, we will not get through this.
~Joe Wenderoth
Somehow it got into my room.
I found it, and it was, naturally, trapped.
It was nothing more than a frightened animal.
Since than I raised it up.
I kept it for myself, kept it in my room,
kept it for its own good.
I named the animal, My Life.
I found food for it and fed it with my bare hands.
I let it into my bed, let it breathe in my sleep.
And the animal, in my love, my constant care,
grew up to be strong, and capable of many clever tricks.
One day, quite recently,
I was running my hand over the animal's side
and I came to understand
that it could very easily kill me.
I realized, further, that it would kill me.
This is why it exists, why I raised it.
Since then I have not known what to do.
I stopped feeding it,only to find that its growth
has nothing to do with food.
I stopped cleaning it
and found that it cleans itself.
I stopped singing it to sleep
and found that it falls asleep faster without my song.
I don't know what to do.
I no longer make My Life do tricks.
I leave the animal alone
and, for now, it leaves me alone, too.
I have nothing to say, nothing to do.
Between My Life and me,
a silence is coming.
Together, we will not get through this.
~Joe Wenderoth
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Weekly Reading
The Grammar Lesson
A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
of and with are prepositions. The's
an article, a can's a noun,
a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
A can can roll - or not. What isn't was
or might be, might meaning not yet known."
Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns - i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown.
A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does.
Is is a helping verb. It helps because
filled isn't a full verb. Can's what our owns
in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz."
See? There's almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules...or write them down!
A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.
~Steve Kowit
A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
of and with are prepositions. The's
an article, a can's a noun,
a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
A can can roll - or not. What isn't was
or might be, might meaning not yet known."
Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns - i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown.
A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does.
Is is a helping verb. It helps because
filled isn't a full verb. Can's what our owns
in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz."
See? There's almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules...or write them down!
A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.
~Steve Kowit
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Weekly Reading
What is the greatest gift?
What is the greatest gift?
Could it be the world itself — the oceans, the meadowlark,
the patience of the trees in the wind?
Could it be love, with its sweet clamor of passion?
Something else — something else entirely holds me in thrall.
That you have a life that I wonder about
more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a life — courteous, intelligent —
that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a soul — your own, no one else's —
that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
So that I find my soul clapping its hands for yours
more than my own.
~Mary Oliver
What is the greatest gift?
Could it be the world itself — the oceans, the meadowlark,
the patience of the trees in the wind?
Could it be love, with its sweet clamor of passion?
Something else — something else entirely holds me in thrall.
That you have a life that I wonder about
more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a life — courteous, intelligent —
that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
That you have a soul — your own, no one else's —
that I wonder about more than I wonder about my own.
So that I find my soul clapping its hands for yours
more than my own.
~Mary Oliver
Monday, October 26, 2009
Weekly Reading
An Old Sidewalk
THE PASSING YEARS have broken it
over the knees of tree roots,
those of great maples raining shade,
and of crippled elms whose leaves
in August turn to a lace that sifts
the heat. And the breaks have filled
with mold from which frail seedlings,
already with bark like their parents,
hold up green banners of hope.
For sixty or maybe seventy years
this sidewalk has been lying here,
literally under foot, and suddenly,
one morning when I look,
it’s there, supporting me,
its every pebble like a jewel—
yellow or brown or red or black—
set in the sandy concrete, ants
patching their old gray tent.
Such happiness there is in being
a part of all this, of dismissing
the woman watching from her window
while I bend to one knee to press
my hand against a broken sidewalk,
feeling the heat of that same light
that the sparrow hops over,
and that warms the cricket as it carries
its song across town in its purse.
~Ted Kooser
THE PASSING YEARS have broken it
over the knees of tree roots,
those of great maples raining shade,
and of crippled elms whose leaves
in August turn to a lace that sifts
the heat. And the breaks have filled
with mold from which frail seedlings,
already with bark like their parents,
hold up green banners of hope.
For sixty or maybe seventy years
this sidewalk has been lying here,
literally under foot, and suddenly,
one morning when I look,
it’s there, supporting me,
its every pebble like a jewel—
yellow or brown or red or black—
set in the sandy concrete, ants
patching their old gray tent.
Such happiness there is in being
a part of all this, of dismissing
the woman watching from her window
while I bend to one knee to press
my hand against a broken sidewalk,
feeling the heat of that same light
that the sparrow hops over,
and that warms the cricket as it carries
its song across town in its purse.
~Ted Kooser
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Weekly Reading
Care and Feeding
Because tomorrow I will be 420, in dog years, I have decided to take myself for a long walk on the path around the lake, and when I get back to the house, I will jump up on my chest and lick my nose, my ears, and eyelids while I tell myself again and again to get down.
Then I will replenish my bowl with cold water from the tap and hand myself a biscuit from the jar which I will hold gingerly in my teeth. Then I will make three circles and lie down on the wood floor at my feet and close my eyes as I sleep all morning and into the afternoon. Checking every once in a while to make sure I am still here, reaching down with one hand to stroke my furry, esteemed, venerable head.
~Billy Collins
Because tomorrow I will be 420, in dog years, I have decided to take myself for a long walk on the path around the lake, and when I get back to the house, I will jump up on my chest and lick my nose, my ears, and eyelids while I tell myself again and again to get down.
Then I will replenish my bowl with cold water from the tap and hand myself a biscuit from the jar which I will hold gingerly in my teeth. Then I will make three circles and lie down on the wood floor at my feet and close my eyes as I sleep all morning and into the afternoon. Checking every once in a while to make sure I am still here, reaching down with one hand to stroke my furry, esteemed, venerable head.
~Billy Collins
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