The Sea

So, I'm copying my friend who posted a poem on her blog a couple days ago. I'd have done it sooner, but I was having computer issues. They are resolved, at least for the moment, so I'm going to share this tidbit I wrote just over a year ago, while in Ireland. Fair, green Ireland totally brought out the poet in me.
The day after seeing the Cliffs of Moher, we took a ferry ride from Galway to the isle of Inishmoor. I wrote the poem (and took the picture) on the ferry ride.




The Sea
The Sea, the sea
the rolling sea
salt spray
and foaming froth;
graceful waves and
misty rain;
islands wreathed in fog.

The Sea, the sea.

the mighty sea:

though men traverse

your breadth,

who can tame your

savage waves?

You are fierce and cold as death.

The Sea, the sea,

the wild sea:

rough winds and

frigid depths;

desolate cries of

lonely birds;

Your kingdom by Neptune kept.

The Sea, the sea,

the majestic sea:

her empire vast

in reach;

a kingdom teeming with

perilous life,

deeper than eye can see.

The Sea, the sea,

the restless sea:

ever churning, never

at rest;

driven by wind and

currents within,

until Earth's final breath.

The Sea, the sea,

the gentle sea:

whispering your

secrets sweet,

to sailors, explorers, and

lovers of life;

your lullaby sings me to sleep.

JMR, 7/22/08

The Wisdom of Tolkien

Continuing the "month o' poetry," here's another gem I love. From "The Lord of the Rings":

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

Somehow it's both stirring and comforting.

A Psalm of Life

So, Wendy tells me that April is National Poetry Month. Since I have little to blog about, aside from Lost, I will steal/copy/borrow/recycle an idea from Wendy's blog and share with you my favorite poem.

I found it in a High School English book from 1901 (seriously!) and just fell in love with it. It speaks to many of my favorite themes. I've tried to memorize it, but I always seem to forget a stanza. The last three were quoted by the minister at my Grandma Jean's memorial service.

A Psalm of Life, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each tomorrow
Find us farther than today.

Art is long and Time is fleeting,
And out hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act--act in the living Present!
Heart within and God o'rehead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints in the sands of time;--

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

Come, Springtime

Come, gentle showers,
fall soft on me.

Little drops of grace
keeping me from
cracking like dry earth.

Come heavy storms,
make me clean.

I am deluged
Soaked entirely through
and shivering.

Come rushing water,
sweep me away.

A flood of change
slows to a trickle
and all is still.

Come, fierce winds,
strip away my gloom.

Let what was frozen
thaw and flow:
Life is on the move.

Come, golden light,
saturate my soul.

Rays of warmth
call forth growth;
the world is green again.

Come, Springtime,
help me bloom.