dogtrax

Dec 7 Advent of Joy

“so joy.us” — Vladimir Lucien, uses of the erotic https://poets.org/poem/uses-erotic

silence/spoken poets woven by words your words my words our words us:

Breathe

Dec 6 Advent of Joy

“Ah, we should have a land of joy” – Langston Hughes, Our Land https://poets.org/poem/our-land

So we should, but it's understood how far off we are from such a noble goal, and so we find ourselves at home, tending joy within four walls, the place where we can still make love happen

Dec 1 “Joy is not made to be a crumb” — Mary Oliver, Don't Hesitate https://www.best-poems.net/mary-oliver/don-t-hesitate.html

Cake maybe is more like it – baked then sliced into sections, every question a forkful for another quiet reason to close your eyes - let's begin again to breathe in the sweet of joy

Dec 2 “He who binds to himself a joy” — William Blake, Eternity https://poets.org/poem/eternity

Frayed strings with broken lines, a poem sometimes can feel like its always on the verge of falling apart, and then, not

Dec 3 “... the joy that throws everything it has upon the dust, and knows not a word” — Rabindranath Tagore, Gitanjali 58

Swept up into sand, little particles rushing in; you gasp you breathe you gasp to know the words, only to swallow what is best left misunderstood

Dec 4 “... luminous joy: it simply spins” — Andrew Hudgins, Blur https://poets.org/poem/blur

Weaver, remember me when the wheel's no longer broken, my thoughts now spoken in a whisper

Dec 5 “Joy lives behind people's eyes” — Hilda Conkling, Joy

Who'd wear glasses on days like these when what we need most is to gaze deep into each other's eyes, languishing in the moment, if only for a minute

Thanks to Deanna for her Advent of Joy poetic calendar https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1Wj3kZufH72IdE7QZbN9WJZU4xWNxhVzM-vik2g1QQoM/present#slide=id.p

A red cardinal depends too much on the snow, hiding white chickens

(with apologies to William Carlos Williams)

Keep low to the ground, Junco; refuse to be found - be the mystery

We cup our fingers to hold the moon tight, its light shimmers inside us

On a cold, cold night, we huddle near the fire; stories as kindling

Such tiny packets dipped in hot water, steeped and set for comfort

Coffee mug tremors with soft wisps of steam; we dream in deep November

for Algot

An abandoned lawn dons its winter coat of leaves and small broken sticks