From One Book Lover

When Giving Is All We Have Alberto Ríos , 1952                                               One river gives                                               Its journey to the next. We give because someone gave to us. We give because nobody gave to us. We give because giving has changed us. We give because giving could have changed us. We have been better for it, We have been wounded by it— Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet, Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails. Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too, But we read this book, anyway, over and again: Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand, Mine to yours, yours to mine. You gave me blue and I gave you yellow. Together we are simple green. ...

Poem in your Pocket Day is April 24 — are you ready? Here's a poem that will fit in your pocket — and start looking for others! Long Island Sound I see it as it looked one afternoon In August,—by a fresh soft breeze o’erblown. The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon, A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon. The shining waters with pale currents strewn, The quiet fishing-smacks, the Eastern cove, The semi-circle of its dark, green grove. The luminous grasses, and the merry sun In the grave sky; the sparkle far and wide, Laughter of unseen children, cheerful chirp Of crickets, and low lisp of rippling tide, Light summer clouds fantastical as sleep Changing unnoted while I gazed thereon. All these fair sounds and sights I made my own. — Emma Lazarus  Courtesy poets.org

Let America Be America Again   Let America be America again.  Let it be the dream it used to be.  Let it be the pioneer on the plain  Seeking a home where he himself is free.    (America never was America to me.)    Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--  Let it be that great strong land of love  Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme  That any man be crushed by one above.    (It never was America to me.)    O, let my land be a land where Liberty  Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,  But opportunity is real, and life is free,  Equality is in the air we breathe.    (There's never been equality for me,  Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")    Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?  And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?    I am t...

El Beso   Twilight--and you  Quiet--the stars;  Snare of the shine of your teeth,  Your provocative laughter,  The gloom of your hair;  Lure of you, eye and lip;  Yearning, yearning,  Languor, surrender;  Your mouth,  And madness, madness,  Tremulous, breathless, flaming,  The space of a sigh;  Then awakening--remembrance,  Pain, regret--your sobbing;  And again, quiet--the stars,  Twilight--and you.   by Angelina Weld Grimké Courtesy Academy of American Poets  

Te Deum Not because of victories I sing, having none, but for the common sunshine, the breeze, the largess of the spring. Not for victory but for the day's work done as well as I was able; not for a seat upon the dais but at the common table. by Charles Reznikoff Courtesy poets.org  

National Poetry Month is right around the corner. Do you have a poem you can't wait to read? Share it with me — you could win a book of poetry for your efforts... Meeting and Passing As I went down the hill along the wall There was a gate I had leaned at for the view And had just turned from when I first saw you As you came up the hill. We met. But all We did that day was mingle great and small Footprints in summer dust as if we drew The figure of our being less than two But more than one as yet. Your parasol Pointed the decimal off with one deep thrust. And all the time we talked you seemed to see Something down there to smile at in the dust. (Oh, it was without prejudice to me!) Afterward I went past what you had passed Before we met and you what I had passed. by Robert Frost courtesy poets.org

Richard Blanco was chosen as the inaugural poet to write the poem for th is year's Presidential and Vice Presidential inauguration . Clic k here to watch him read the poem at the celebration, and enjoy an older poem of his below. El Florida Room Not a study or a den, but El Florida as my mother called it, a pretty name for the room with the prettiest view  of the lipstick-red hibiscus puckered up against the windows, the tepid breeze  laden with the brown-sugar scent  of loquats drifting in from the yard.  Not a sunroom, but where the sun  both rose and set, all day the shadows  of banana trees fan-dancing across the floor, and if it rained, it rained the loudest, like marbles plunking  across the roof under constant threat  of coconuts ready to fall from the sky. Not a sitting room, but El Florida where  I sat alone for hours with bu...

Because sometimes you just can't wait until Wednesday... The Passing of the Year  My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,      My den is all a cosy glow; And snug before the fire I sit,      And wait to feel the old year go. I dedicate to solemn thought      Amid my too-unthinking days, This sober moment, sadly fraught      With much of blame, with little praise. Old Year! upon the Stage of Time      You stand to bow your last adieu; A moment, and the prompter's chime      Will ring the curtain down on you. Your mien is sad, your step is slow;      You falter as a Sage in pain; Yet turn, Old Year, before you go,      And face your audience again. That sphinx-like face, remote, austere,      Let us all read, whate'er the cost: O M...

  The Wound-Dresser 1 An old man bending I come among new faces, Years looking backward resuming in answer to children, Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love me, (Arous'd and angry, I'd thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war, But soon my fingers fail'd me, my face droop'd and I resign'd myself, To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead;) Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances, Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;) Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth, Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us? What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics, Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what de...