Ordinary Days

Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,

but it is a way of foolishness.

Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.

Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.

And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself.

The Strangest Person

“I used to think I was 

the strangest person in the world

but then I thought there are 

so many people in the world, 

there must be someone just like me 

who feels bizarre and flawed in the same ways I do. 

I would imagine her, and imagine 

that she must be out there thinking of me too. 

Well, I hope that if you are out there 

and read this and know that, 

yes, it's true I'm here, 

and I'm just as strange as you.”

The New Dog

Into the gravity of my life, 

the serious ceremonies 

of polish and paper 

and pen, has come 

this manic animal 

whose innocent disruptions 

make nonsense 

of my old simplicities-- 

as if I needed him 

to prove again that after 

all the careful planning, 

anything can happen.

Brown Penny

I whispered, "I am too young,"

And then, "I am old enough;" 

Wherefore I threw a penny 

To find out if I might love. 

"Go and love, go and love, young man, 

If the lady be young and fair." 

Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, 

I am looped in the loops of her hair. 

O love is the crooked thing, 

There is nobody wise enough 

To find out all that is in it, 

For he would be thinking of love 

Till the stars had run away 

And the shadows eaten the moon. 

Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny, 

One cannot begin it too soon.

Note: The poet starts by wondering if there's a right age for love, so he flips a coin and takes a chance. He says that no one knows all that is involved in Love, it'll take more than a lifetime to understand it, so one just has to take a risk.

Death Be Not Proud (Holy Sonnet 10)

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and souls deliverie.

Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;

One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more, death thou shalt die!

Earth Is Enough

We men of Earth have here the stuff

Of Paradise - we have enough!
We need no other stones to build
The Temple of the Unfulfilled -
No other ivory for the doors -
No other marble for the floors -
No other cedar for the beam
And dome of man's immortal dream.

Here on the paths of every-day -
Here on the common human way
Is all the stuff the gods would take
To build a Heaven, to mold and make
New Edens. Ours is the stuff sublime
To build Eternity in time!

Preparedness

For all your days prepare, 

And meet them ever alike:
When you are the anvil, bear—
When you are the hammer, strike.