Advice To A Girl

No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed;
Lay that on your heart,
My young angry dear;
This truth, this hard and precious stone,
Lay it on your hot cheek.
Let it hide your tear.
Hold it like a crystal
When you are alone
And gaze in the depths of the icy stone.
Long, look long and you will be blessed:
No one worth possessing
Can be quite possessed.

-Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)

An Old Friend

I've been feeling a bit under the weather lately. It's been a funny old month, May. I've had a few knocks and scrapes and I'm feeling a little worse for wear as a consequence.

And it seems that my blog has suffered a little as a result...not too much posting going on this month!

But that's ok. I wanted it to be a little sanctuary, free from pressure and constraint. I wanted to have a positive space to write down my thoughts and feelings and focus on the happy, good things in life.

This is especially important to do when life takes a less than pleasant turn.

So in this post, I want to return to that old friend of mine, the poem. A friend who has a thought or a verse for any occasion.

The following is a poem I stumbled across quite by accident some years ago in a bookshop. I opened the book and out leapt this beautiful verse.

A lovely poem for a lovely sunny day.

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Mary Oliver

'Our' Poem

I want to try avoiding sounding pretentious or smug when I say this, but poetry has been and still is incredibly important to me. I have read it in times of great sadness and stress and I have also turned to it to help me express some of my happiest moments.

Although I have previously studied it from a purely academic view, I prefer now to simply to read it, think about it and engage with it. I don't analyse structure or context. I try only to enjoy it for the message it conveys.

The poem below is one of my all time favourites and it is really special to me. Lots of couples have a special song or movie that they consider 'theirs'. Hubby and I have a poem. This is it:

First Love

I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more.

John Clare (1793 - 1864)