As for the poem, not this poem but any poem, do you feel its sting? Do you feel its hope, its entrance to a community? Do you feel its hand in your hand?
Mary Oliver, from "Good Morning" in Blue Horses
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@delectare
As for the poem, not this poem but any poem, do you feel its sting? Do you feel its hope, its entrance to a community? Do you feel its hand in your hand?
Mary Oliver, from "Good Morning" in Blue Horses
Mary Oliver, from "Sand Dabs, Five"
My heart, like a wild spring day.
Mary Oliver, from "Little Owl that Lives in The Orchard" in Devotions: Selected Poems
I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields.
Mary Oliver, from "Lilies" in House of Light: Poems
Mary Oliver, from “Sleeping in the forest”
Mary Oliver, from Serengeti
Mary Oliver, from "Thirst" in Devotions
DECEM-BIRD Day 18-Canada Goose (words from Wild Geese by Mary Oliver of course)
Mary Oliver, from "Moon and Water"
Mary Oliver, from "Doesn't Every Poet Write A Poem About Unrequited Love?", in Thirst
Mary Oliver, A Poetry Handbook: A Prose Guide to Understanding and Writing Poetry
Mary Oliver, "When I Am Among the Trees"
Mary Oliver, from "Peonies"
Mary Oliver, from a poem titled "When I Am Among The Trees," featured in Devotions: Poems
Softest of Mornings
by Mary Oliver
Softest of mornings, hello. And what will you do today, I wonder, to my heart? And how much honey can the heart stand, I wonder, before it must break? This is trivial, or nothing: a snail climbing a trellis of leaves and the blue trumpets of flowers. No doubt clocks are ticking loudly all over the world. I don’t hear them. The snail’s pale horns extend and wave this way and that as her fingers-body shuffles forward, leaving behind the silvery path of her slime. Oh, softest of mornings, how shall I break this? How shall I move away from the snail, and the flowers? How shall I go on, with my introspective and ambitious life?