Doesn’t It?

Been thinking;

Thinking about

Thinking:

How thinking

Changes thinking,

Changes what I think about

And what I think about

What I think about.

Been thinking:

Thinking that

Thinking

Changes the thinker;

Thinking

“Hey!

That’s me

Doing all that thinking –

I think.

And I Look Out …

Cuckoo-winds blow

Out from high, laburnum-intoxicated valleys

Where they grow restless.

White ‘n’ shadow sundae clouds

Are hedges blown across

The clear blue garden fields of Heav’n … Continue reading

“What Will Your Verse Be?”

 

This  comes courtesy of blogger Dyan Diamond who posted this

http://wordpress.com/read/post/id/45100490/1504/

Being both curious and not a little inspired I had to look it up, first the wonderfully imaged advertisement, then the Walt Whitman poem which is voiced so perfect-well by Robin Williams.

So ,take a peek at the ad, remember I am not a great fan of I-pads (but shamelessly use one when it suits me!) and then read the original below.

Muse with me and as I did, whether it is better to have the images put before you – as is done so creatively in the ad – or to simply imagine your own.

I don’t even know what I think myself any more.

By Walt Whitman 1819–1892 Walt Whitman

Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,
The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?
                                       Answer.
That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

About Doors

Through December-strange windows,

Silver framed by frost’s craftwork,

A pair of yellow roses bloom still:

Chariot-ghosts of summer-gone moons,

Like steady, pale cream flames in falling snow.

And, I have been thinking much

About doors these past weeks:
I won’t be using this one much longer,

And it won’t remember me.

Why would it?

11/12/2011