New York Subway

by Hilda Morley

The beauty of people in the subway
that evening, Saturday, holding the door for whoever
was slower or
left behind
(even withall that Saturday-night
excitement)
& the high-school boys from Queens, boasting,
joking together
proudly in their expectations
& power, young frolicsome
bulls,& the three office-girls
each strangely beautiful, the Indian
with dark skin & the girl with her haircut
very short and fringed, like Joan
at the stake, the corners
of her mouth laughing
& the black girl delicateas a doe, dark-brown in pale-brown clothes
& the tall woman in a long caftan, the other day,
serene & serious & the Puerto Rican
holding the door for more than 3 minutes for
the feeble, crippled, hunched little man who
could not raise his head,
whose hand I held, to
help him into the subway-car—
so we were
joined in helping him & someone,seeing us, gives up his seat,
learning
from us what we had learned from each other.

As seen on

"New York Subway" by Hilda Morley, from To Hold My Hand: Selected Poems 1955-1983. © The Sheep Meadow Press, 1983.

Now go here and read watch this video on the Compassion Project - a wonderful idea, so simple and yet so powerful. Engaging and thought provoking, and it made me smile. This link brought to me by Slow Love Life by Dominque Browning.

Just right for Sunday morning.

pencil tip sculptures

perfect for September 1, 2010

found via pencil revolution

September always feels like the beginning of the year for me, so I decided to make a few resolutions: slow life, balance, rest, determination, hope,

and I must remember the feathers,

those that fall in my path, and one of my favorite poems.

HOPE

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune -- without the words,

and never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me

Emily Dickinson

there is always the possibility of hope in the midst of difficulty

Writer's Almanac reports: It's the birthday of economist and sociologist Thorstein Veblen, (books by this author) born in Cato, Wisconsin (1857). He was an economics professor at the young University of Chicago when, in 1899, he published his book The Theory of the Leisure Class,in which he coined the phrase "conspicuous consumption."

Veblen used the term in a sentence of his book like this: "Conspicuous consumption of valuable goods is a means of reputability to the gentleman of leisure."

There is not too much conspicuous consumption these days - the pendulum has swung dramatically: so many are just trying hard to get by.

The Writer's Almanac is a wonderful way to start your day - so many things in life are free - read a poem, listen to the birds, watch the trees move in the wind and feel the sun on your face - now that's a great start to the day and it did not cost a penny! Enjoy your weekend.

feathers -

i have read a lot about them lately

someone who found a feather recently said it meant change

i love this poem by emily dickinson - hope is the thing with feathers...

Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

It is believed that if you find a feather on your path it may be a sign of encouragement as you march along your path.

It also means lighten up; find a feather, change your thoughts, be grateful for the moment - find joy -

Peonies have been everywhere in the blogosphere lately,

so I decided to join the party.

And they are bloosoming everywhere in my neck of the woods these days.

An image from today: the Offinger's farm up the road.

I love having a party in June when I can buy bushels of peonies from the Offingers.

The effect is beautiful and the scent, delicious.

Just last week the Writer's Almanac posted this poem. Lovely

PEONIES

by Jeanne Lohmann

Grandma called them pineys, and I didn't know why.

They smelled so good, the full lush petals

crowded thick, the whole flower heavy on its stem,

the leaves dark and rich and green as shade in Chatauqua Woods

where each spring I hunted for violets. What could there be

to pine for on this earth? Now I think maybe it was Missouri

she missed, and maybe that was what somebody she knew

called peonies there, before she traveled to Ohio,

a sixteen-year-old bride whose children came on as fast

as field crops and housework. Her flowers saved her,

the way they came up year after year and with only a bit of care

lived tender and pretty, each kind surprising,

keeping its own sweet secret: lily-of-the-valley, iris,

the feathery-leaved cosmos, lilacs in their white and purple curls,

flamboyant sweet peas and zinnias, the bright four o'clocks

and delphinium, blue as her eyes, and the soft peony flowers

edged deep pink. In her next life I want my grandmother

to walk slowly through the gardens in England and Kyoto.

I want to be there when she recognizes the flowers

and smiles, when she kneels and takes the pineys in her hands.

Be well, do good work, and keep in touch.^®

The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor is one of my favorite sites. Every morning I am greeted with a poem and then a few interesting stories about authors. I highly recommend this daily morning ritual - what better way to start the day... a few of the poems have made it to my office wall... a little inspiration goes a long way.

And here is another daily read via little augury - read this book in daily installments courtesy of Diane Von Furstenburg ... no excuses for not reading a book - just catch snippets at your desk while you are reading other e-mail - it is like a piece of candy...