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Archive for June, 2010

Mary Miller Pembleton submitted this lovely poem in response to my National Poetry Month call for poetry (it was in April, but it’s never too late). Read her note below and enjoy!

Thanks Nina! Yes I know it’s May but I am submitting my poem anyway. I celebrated National Poetry Month by posting one poem a day for the entire month of April on my blog and FaceBook. Kinda proud of accomplishing this goal. Kinda love your poetry. Kinda having a great day. Have a taste..

cherries jubilee

cherry blossom trunk

draped in velvet robes,

cotton candy flakes sugar Asian roots

entrancing grove’s fleeting

flower frosting

blackbird braided branches

faintly drumming,

bowed heads gently march, sit upon her strands

richest pink silk spilling

sacred secrets

crisp cedar heats noses

soft moonlight melting

frozen tears leave a love sheen on spring cheeks

cascading shivers, sudden sky thunder, all at once

satisfying hunger

-Mary Miller Pembleton

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The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice —
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save.

-Mary Oliver

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If you forget me, wear your hair that way
where the bangs are long and the back is curled against your neck.

Dress up with her for Halloween, after all, she is your wife. And when
I check in on you- it will be the for the latest scores.
You didn’t actually go to Harvard. You work at Wegmans.

You never left that one world. The one I left 14 years ago. But
it is me, with my degrees and my postcards, that still peeks over the fence
at your steadiness, solid and unafraid– I loved you then and now.

How do I know? This, for me, is love: unquenchable inferiority forever.

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