Poetry

Tree Hugger

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“Ever hugged a tree? Come on, admit it.
I have. One day in distress, I hugged a tree.
To my amazement, it did not move or run away.
It stayed in place, sturdy, strong, abiding, and true.
I guess you could say the tree hugged me.”

~ Jeff Blake, Ode To Grace: Poetry & Prose

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With That Moon Language

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Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them,
Love me.
Of course you do not do this out loud;
Otherwise,
Someone would call the cops.
Still though, think about this,
This great pull in us
To connect.
Why not become the one
Who lives with a full moon in each eye
That is always saying,
With that sweet moon language,
What every other eye in this world
Is dying to Hear.

~ Hafez

Painting by John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836)

In This World

In This World
by Wendell Berry

The hill pasture, an open place among the trees,
tilts into the valley. The clovers and tall grasses
are in bloom. Along the foot of the hill
dark floodwater moves down the river.
The sun sets. Ahead of nightfall the birds sing.
I have climbed up to water the horses
and now sit and rest, high on the hillside,
letting the day gather and pass. Below me
cattle graze out across the wide fields of the bottomlands,
slow and preoccupied as stars. In this world
men are making plans, wearing themselves out,
spending their lives, in order to kill each other.