Poem for a Sunday Morning

THE FOURTH SIGN OF THE ZODIAC (PART 3)

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.

So why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be as urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.


fullsizeoutput_2014


The curious music that I hear

For Christmas, my daughter gave me a collection of transcribed poems – some of her favorites, some of mine – and painted a small watercolor to accompany each one.

I opened the cover and immediately began to cry.

How could I not?

I had received two of the most precious gifts any of us can give; to be the subject of one’s sincere attention and to be understood.


BKrY6XLyQxeRm+SVfBkZOAhDozhlZfTkKO+peVli9e1g


 

Angle of Repose

angle of repose (n): the steepest angle at which a sloping surface formed of a particular loose material is stable.


I couldn’t resist lying down on Andy Goldworthy’s epic work, Wood Line, when we walked along it last Saturday. I am on vacation, a time of rest and relaxation, so I thought I would practice a little.

I wish I had stayed there longer. It was a perfect afternoon.

And since that afternoon I have thought that, had I done so, I might have just slipped away, the angle of my “loose material” overwhelming my repose.

Goldsworthy only creates that which will eventually return to the earth.

I think that’s what was happening to me, lying there even briefly. I felt pulled into myself, a jumble of loose material wanting to settle and be settled, wanting to reconnect to known and knowable things.

And yet, it was not to be. And I was up and walking again before I could slip away.

How necessarily, how painfully human.


fullsizeoutput_2655

Wood Line by Andy Goldsworthy – San Francisco

One Beam of Light

I think it’s extraordinary that even the smallest light can illuminate the darkest space. Consider that for a moment: no matter how dark it is, if you have one ray, one beam of light, you can see. And once you can see, you can act. And once you can act you are steps away from being out of the confines of darkness and into the freedom of light.

What is your one beam of light?

Is it a friendship, a poem, a word?

Is it a quote, your marriage, a lifelong friend?

Is it a story of redemption, a moment of truth, an episode of daring?

Is it a work of art, a song, a chance encounter?

Is it your child, a value, a strength?

Is it your work? Is it your faith?

One beam of light transforms the darkness. Every time.


DAVID BERRY is the author of “A More Daring Life: Finding Voice at the Crossroads of Change” and the founder of RULE13 Learning. He speaks and writes about the complexity of leading in a changing world. Connect with him on Twitter at @berrydavid.