"Those were hard things for me to come by, and I offer them to you for what they may be worth." - Toby Wolff

Sunday, October 28, 2012

No title

I disagree.

What we write is an expression of what needs outpouring, release, or clarification. It is so beyond us, that we look back on it in either repulsion or awe. Rarely do we say, "I did that", but rather "It needed doing."

(Reposting this poem from my dragonfly, Marion...)

Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End? By Mary Oliver
There are things you can’t reach. But
you can reach out to them, and all day long.
The wind, the bird flying away. The idea of God.
And it can keep you as busy as anything else, and happier.
The snake slides away; the fish jumps, like a little lily,
out of the water and back in; the goldfinches sing
from the unreachable top of the tree.
I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.
Looking I mean not just standing around, but standing around
as though with your arms open.
And thinking: maybe something will come, some
shining coil of wind,
or a few leaves from any old tree–
they are all in this too.
And now I will tell you the truth.
Everything in the world
At least, closer.
And, cordially.
Like the nibbling, tinsel-eyed fish; the unlooping snake.
Like goldfinches, little dolls of goldfluttering around the corner of the sky
of God, the blue air.

~ Blessings


  1. I missed your writing so much, I had to leave my house of silence and move into an apt where people talk and make noise, and smoke and burn incense and I'm choking on this reality, where I wasn't given a choice, everything you say hurt and soothe at the same time,how I've missed you my dear Annie, oh and forget the music, I can't be loud, I live in an apt next to people....I'm choking on it and I have no choice

    1. I understand this as my circumstances are similar. I am conscious of my neighbors and the newspaper walls between us, but I seem to be the only one paying attention. Makes me want to blast my Jesus music at 'em. Take that! But we can't respond in kind. I pay most attention to the children. For all the negative I see shoved at them daily by disrespecting parents, I try to bring a little opposite. And Lorraine....music can be as loud as you want. Headphones and earplugs keep me sane.

      That said, I mourn with you...your house of silence. It is a culture shock to be different in the world. I've missed you too Lorraine :)


  2. And often the shoes don't fit.

    1. or are miserably uncomfortable! Bring on the Chucks.

  3. I disagree too... The poem is wonderful. Found a good place for the moment, reading this, this morning.

    1. I'm trying to retrace to exactly what you disagree with, but I'm coming up empty. Doesn't really matter. I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to disagree...and agree. It IS a good poem :)

  4. Oh, yes, yes yes....."but you can reach out to them all day long..." This is by far one of the most beautiful poems Mary Oliver has ever written. (FYI, she has a brand new book of sparkling poetry just out October 11, titled, "A Thousand Mornings."

    So much amazing poetry in this world (inside of us!) and so little time to devour/write it all. I love you, sweetest Annie. You are PERFECT just the way you are and you always rekindle my inner spirit/poet. xoxo

    "In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit." ~Albert Schweitzer

    1. Marion...you are a library of poetry, as some to the Bible are verse. Ahhh...to have you in my pocket always. But in a locket...there you are, keeping my heart in your heart :)

      Love you Poetess!


Thank you for listening.