#nancy willard

[thefugitivesaint]

Diane Dillon (1933-) & Leo Dillon (1933-2012), ''Spectrum'', 1994 Last page for ''The Sorcerer's Apprentice'' by Nancy Willard, 1993

[katerobynmoments]

— Nancy Willard

“Do the years ever run out?

God said, I will break time's heart. Time ran down like an old phonograph. It lay flat as a carpet. At rest on its threads, I am learning to fly.”

[booksquared]

Questions My Son Asked Me, Answers I Never Gave Him - Nancy Willard

Do gorillas have birthdays? Yes. Like the rainbow, they happen. Like the air, they are not observed.

Do butterflies make a noise? The wire in the butterfly’s tongue hums gold. Some men hear butterflies even in winter.

Are they part of our family? They forgot us, who forgot how to fly.

Who tied my navel? Did God tie it? God made the thread: O man, live forever! Man made the knot: enough is enough.

If I drop my tooth in the telephone will it go through the wires and bite someone’s ear? I have seen earlobes pierced by a tooth of steel. It loves what lasts. It does not love flesh. It leaves a ring of gold in the wound.

If I stand on my head will the sleep in my eye roll up into my head? Does the dream know its own father? Can bread go back to the field of its birth?

Can I eat a star? Yes, with the mouth of time that enjoys everything.

Could we Xerox the moon? This is the first commandment:

I am the moon, thy moon. Thou shalt have no other moons before thee.

9. Who invented water? The hands of the air, that wanted to wash each other.

10. What happens at the end of numbers? I see three men running toward a field. At the edge of the tall grass, they turn into light.

11. Do the years ever run out? God said, I will break time’s heart. Time ran down like an old phonograph. It lay flat as a carpet. At rest on its threads, I am learning to fly.

[violettesiren]

The snow arrives after long silence from its high home where nothing leaves tracks or strains or keeps time. The sky it fell from, pale as oatmeal, bears up like sheep before shearing.

The cat at my window watches amazed. So many feathers and no bird! All day the snow sets its table with clean linen, putting its house in order. The hungry deer walk

on the risen loaves of snow. You can follow the broken hearts their hooves punch in its crust. Night after night the big plows rumble and bale it like dirty laundry

and haul it to the Hudson. Now I scan the sky for snow, and the cool cheek it offers me, and its body, thinned into petals, and the still caves where it sleeps.

The Snow Arrives After Long Silence by Nancy Willard

[ma-pi-ma]

A volte le domande sono più importanti delle risposte.

Nancy Willard

[anastasiaoftheironwood]

Poem: The Snow Arrives After Long Silence—Nancy Willard

The Snow Arrives After Long Silence —Nancy Willard

The snow arrives after long silence from its high home where nothing leaves tracks or strains or keeps time. The sky it fell from, pale as oatmeal, bears up like sheep before shearing.

The cat at my window watches amazed. So many feathers and no bird! All day the snow sets its table with clean linen, putting its house in order. The hungry deer walk

on the risen loaves of snow. You can follow the broken hearts their hooves punch in its crust. Night after night the big plows rumble and bale it like dirty laundry

and haul it to the Hudson. Now I scan the sky for snow, and the cool cheek it offers me, and its body, thinned into petals, and the still caves where it sleeps.

[ablusterynight]

The Snow Arrives After Long Silence by Nancy Willard

The snow arrives after long silence from its high home where nothing leaves tracks or stains or keeps time. The sky it fell from, pale as oatmeal, bears up like sheep before shearing.

The cat at my window watches amazed. So many feathers and no bird! All day the snow sets its table with clean linen, putting its house in order. The hungry deer walk

on the risen loaves of snow. You can follow the broken hearts their hooves punch in its crust. Night after night the big plows rumble and bale it like dirty laundry

and haul it to the Hudson. Now I scan the sky for snow, and the cool cheek it offers me, and its body, thinned into petals, and the still caves where it sleeps.

[quotescodex]

'the skin of moss / holds the footprints of / star-footed birds.' -Nancy Willard | See more daily motivational quotes at Jar of Quotes.