This site is the digital home of our neighborhood poetry box and the nature-planted poetry in San Diego. With the intention of spreading just a bit more beauty into the world, we share poetry and, sometimes, artwork. Feel free to comment here, but most importantly, enjoy the sharing of beauty.
God speaks to each of us as she makes us
then walks with us silently out of the night
These are the words we dimly hear.
You, sent out beyond your recall
go to the limits of your longing
Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror
Just keep going. No feeling is final
Don’t let yourself lose me
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its intensity
Give me your hand
Book of Hours – Love poems to God (trans J. Macy)
There’s a thread you follow. It goes amongthings that change. But it doesn’t change.People wonder about what you are pursuing.You have to explain about the thread.But it is hard for others to see.While you hold it you can’t get lost.Tragedies happen; people get hurtor die; and you suffer and get
Our deepest fear
is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear
is that we are
powerful beyond measure.
Now I Become Myself Now I become myself. It’s takenTime, many years and places;I have been dissolved and shaken,Worn other people’s faces,Run madly, as if Time were there,Terribly old, crying a warning,“Hurry, you will be dead before—”(What? Before you reach the morning?Or the end of the poem is clear?Or love
There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled. Like, telling someone you love them. Or giving your money away, all of it. Your heart is beating, isn’t it? You’re not in chains, are you? There is nothing more pathetic than caution when headlong might save a life, even, possibly,
If— — By Rudyard Kipling If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
“This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal. I know the world is bruised and bleeding, and though it is
You Start Dying Slowly — By Pablo Neruda You start dying slowly if you do not travel, if you do not read, If you do not listen to the sounds of life, If you do not appreciate yourself. You start dying slowly When you kill your self-esteem; When you do