Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower-but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
Sunday, March 15, 2020
Flower in the Crannied Wall
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower-but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
Flower in the crannied wall,
I pluck you out of the crannies,
I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower-but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
Sunday, March 8, 2020
A Prose Poem By Carrie Grossman
I love the color of morning. I love blank journals and the minds that fill them. I love dirt roads, passing clouds, and long nights washed with tenderness and rain. I love that we’re all secretly in love with each other, even if we’ve never met.
I love how habitually I want to hide, and how life keeps putting me in front of people. I love brave souls who live their truth and pay no mind to the rolling eyes of others. I love that the same moon shines on every continent and the same sky embraces all beings. I love my secrets, though I'm not sure what they are.
I love worshipping this sacred world through sound. I love that I’ve touched the depths of shame and forgotten myself in a song. I love autumn air and late light and strong hands that work in gardens and with clay. I love healing plants and honeybees, car mechanics, candlemakers, comics, shamans, scribes, and singing birds. I love my heart for never abandoning me, even when others do.
I love that tears taste like the ocean. I love that Brussels sprouts look like little brains. I love that there are unknown heroes all across the globe—people who serve with no expectation of reward. I love that so many of these amazing beings will never be recognized, yet their good deeds spin threads of light around the planet and benefit the entire creation. I love that there are still a few places in the world where wild animals roam free beneath the stars.
I love how people look innocent when they eat. I love how we all want love, even when we push it away. I love resilience, rituals, forgiveness, and muffins. I love weathered books, midnight blossoms, mountain salt, and mixing boards. I love when I burn for something nameless, cry like a child, move like a woman, and make a good pot of soup.
I love how habitually I want to hide, and how life keeps putting me in front of people. I love brave souls who live their truth and pay no mind to the rolling eyes of others. I love that the same moon shines on every continent and the same sky embraces all beings. I love my secrets, though I'm not sure what they are.
I love worshipping this sacred world through sound. I love that I’ve touched the depths of shame and forgotten myself in a song. I love autumn air and late light and strong hands that work in gardens and with clay. I love healing plants and honeybees, car mechanics, candlemakers, comics, shamans, scribes, and singing birds. I love my heart for never abandoning me, even when others do.
I love that tears taste like the ocean. I love that Brussels sprouts look like little brains. I love that there are unknown heroes all across the globe—people who serve with no expectation of reward. I love that so many of these amazing beings will never be recognized, yet their good deeds spin threads of light around the planet and benefit the entire creation. I love that there are still a few places in the world where wild animals roam free beneath the stars.
I love how people look innocent when they eat. I love how we all want love, even when we push it away. I love resilience, rituals, forgiveness, and muffins. I love weathered books, midnight blossoms, mountain salt, and mixing boards. I love when I burn for something nameless, cry like a child, move like a woman, and make a good pot of soup.
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