In the heart's deep core

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I n t e r s e c t

Lake Murray

Columbia, South Carolina

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There is a smile of love, 
And there is a smile of deceit;
And there is a smile of smiles,
In which these two smiles meet.

(And there is a frown of hate,
And there is a frown of disdain;
And there is a frown of frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain,

For it sticks in the heart’s deep core,
And it sticks in the deep backbone.)
And no smile that ever was smiled,
But only one smile alone --

That betwixt the cradle and grave
It only once smiled can be.
But when it once is smiled
There’s an end to all misery.

= William Blake =

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Happy Wednesday

Ghost-ridden crossroads

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D o i n g   T h e   L i g h t   T h i n g

Late Winter

Columbia, South Carolina

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There's a place between two stands of trees where the grass grows uphill
and the old revolutionary road breaks off into shadows
near a meeting-house abandoned by the persecuted
who disappeared into those shadows.

I've walked there picking mushrooms at the edge of dread, but don't be fooled
this isn't a Russian poem, this is not somewhere else but here,
our country moving closer to its own truth and dread,
its own ways of making people disappear.

I won't tell you where the place is, the dark mesh of the woods
meeting the unmarked strip of light —
ghost-ridden crossroads, leafmold paradise:
I know already who wants to buy it, sell it, make it disappear.

And I won't tell you where it is, so why do I tell you
anything? Because you still listen, because in times like these
to have you listen at all, it's necessary
to talk about trees.

= Adrienne Rich =

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Happy Tuesday

Love in music audible

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K o e n i g   : :   T h e   S p h e r e

Battery Park

New York, New York

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I am a shell. From me you shall not hear

The splendid tramplings of insistent drums,

The orbed gold of the viol's voice that comes,

Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear.

Yet, if you hold me close against the ear,

A dim, far whisper rises clamorously,

The thunderous beat and passion of the sea,

The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere.

Others with subtle hands may pluck the strings,

Making even Love in music audible,

And earth one glory. I am but a shell

That moves, not of itself, and moving sings;

Leaving a fragrance, faint as wine new-shed,

A tremulous murmur from great days long dead.

= Stephen Vincent Benét =

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Happy Monday

Life and health and peace

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T i m e   H a s   T o l d

Mount Hope Cemetery

Florence, South Carolina

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O for a thousand tongues to sing

My great Redeemer's praise

The glories of my God and King

The triumphs of His grace.

My gracious Master and my God

Assist me to proclaim

To spread thro' all the earth abroad

The honors of Thy Name.

Jesus! The Name that charms our fears

That bids our sorrows cease

'Tis music in the sinner's ears

'Tis life and health and peace.

He breaks the pow'r of cancelled sin

He sets the captive free

His blood can make the foulest clean

His blood availed for me.

He speaks, and list'ning to His voice

New life the dead receive

The mournful broken hearts rejoice

The humble poor believe.

Hear him, ye deaf, His praise, ye dumb

Your loosened tongues employ

Ye blind, behold your Savior come

And leap, ye lame, for joy.

= Charles Wesley =

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And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many angels

round about the throne and the beasts and the elders:

and the number of them was ten thousand

times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands;

Saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb

that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom,

and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.

Revelation 5:11-12

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Happy Sunday

I am the patient gardener

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T i c k   T o c k

Main Street

North, South Carolina

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I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years ... .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper ... .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me ... .

I am food on the prisoner's plate ... .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills ... .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden ... .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge ... .

I am the heart contracted by joy ... .
the longest hair, white
before the rest ... .
I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow ... .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit ... .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name ... .

= Jane Kenyon =

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Happy Saturday  ::  Happy December