EPC Resources

Poetry Emmanuel Presbyterian Poetry Emmanuel Presbyterian

March 31st, 2022

I thank you God.  By ee Cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

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Poetry Emmanuel Presbyterian Poetry Emmanuel Presbyterian

March 29th, 2022

A Blessing

BY JAMES WRIGHT

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness   

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.   

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.   

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me   

And nuzzled my left hand.   

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist.

Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.

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Poetry Emmanuel Presbyterian Poetry Emmanuel Presbyterian

March 28th, 2022

Encounter

BY CZESLAW MILOSZ

TRANSLATED BY CZESLAW MILOSZ AND LILLIAN VALLEE



We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.

A red wing rose in the darkness.


And suddenly a hare ran across the road.

One of us pointed to it with his hand.


That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive,

Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.


O my love, where are they, where are they going

The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.

I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.

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