On Being Still
For all the poetry
there is in motion, there is
an equal amount of poetry
in no motion.
Consider the chain link fence
that marks the playground,
and the stone lions who guard
the sidewalk to my neighbor’s house.
Consider the broken front porch
and the fallen bird bath, the rock
embedded at the corner of the yard.
Consider the lawn that is
always a blanket (sometimes
green, sometimes white)
and the steadfast tree
rooted in the dark earth.
Lisa Vihos
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Poem of the Week #55
Grey Squirrel
The squirrel darts out
and skims the wheels
of the passing car. He lands
safely on the other side
to frolic among his kin.
I’m sure he cherishes
his life, but I wonder
does his narrow
brush with death
mean more to me than him?
Lisa Vihos
The squirrel darts out
and skims the wheels
of the passing car. He lands
safely on the other side
to frolic among his kin.
I’m sure he cherishes
his life, but I wonder
does his narrow
brush with death
mean more to me than him?
Lisa Vihos
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Poem of the Week #54
The Assistant
This poem appears in the summer of 2010 in the online version of Verse Wisconsin:
http://www.versewisconsin.org/issue103.html
REMOVED
This poem appears in the summer of 2010 in the online version of Verse Wisconsin:
http://www.versewisconsin.org/issue103.html
REMOVED
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Poem of the Week #53
The Key
One day
you rush out
your back door
and drop
your key
It drops into
the deep, deep snow
and you don’t know
its gone until
hours later
Or maybe
you lost it
many lifetimes ago;
wandering
from door
to door
since then, getting in
the best you can with
whomever opens
to you
One day
something, someone,
comes and melts the snow
around your door
and the key
is revealed,
shining at your feet—
a place you had trod
every day unaware that
the key
was there
all along, waiting
for your glance,
waiting for you—
home.
Lisa Vihos
One day
you rush out
your back door
and drop
your key
It drops into
the deep, deep snow
and you don’t know
its gone until
hours later
Or maybe
you lost it
many lifetimes ago;
wandering
from door
to door
since then, getting in
the best you can with
whomever opens
to you
One day
something, someone,
comes and melts the snow
around your door
and the key
is revealed,
shining at your feet—
a place you had trod
every day unaware that
the key
was there
all along, waiting
for your glance,
waiting for you—
home.
Lisa Vihos
Poem of the Week #52
How to Be in This World
Grow like the bent tree
that gladly redirects its arms
to accommodate wind and wire—
anything that stands in its way.
Fly like the torn flag
that is happy to let the breeze
tease it and display its charms,
faded though they may be.
Open like the lowly sponge
that does not guard its holes,
and let God soak through you. Then,
when you are squeezed, let God pour out.
For you are the permeable membrane
between heaven and earth. You are
the beacon and the guide post; your life,
love’s trajectory.
Lisa Vihos
Grow like the bent tree
that gladly redirects its arms
to accommodate wind and wire—
anything that stands in its way.
Fly like the torn flag
that is happy to let the breeze
tease it and display its charms,
faded though they may be.
Open like the lowly sponge
that does not guard its holes,
and let God soak through you. Then,
when you are squeezed, let God pour out.
For you are the permeable membrane
between heaven and earth. You are
the beacon and the guide post; your life,
love’s trajectory.
Lisa Vihos
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