Some Beautiful Poems Greeting Us This Morning

The House of Belonging  by David Whyte

I awoke this morning in the gold light turning this way

 and that thinking for moment it was one way like any other.

But the veil had gone from my darkened heart and I thought

it must have been the quiet candlelight that filled my room,

it must have been the first easy rhythm with which I breathed myself to sleep,

it must have been the prayer I said speaking to the otherness of the night.

And I thought this is the good day you could meet your love,

this is the black day someone close to you could die.

This is the day you realize how easily the thread is broken between this world
and the next and I found myself sitting up in the quiet pathway of light,

the tawny close grained cedar burning round me like fire
and all the angels of this housely heaven ascending through the first roof of light
the sun has made.

This is the bright home in which I live,
this is where I ask my friends to come,
this is where I want to love all the things
it has taken me so long to learn to love.

This is the temple of my adult aloneness
and I belong to that aloneness as I belong to my life.

There is no house like the house of belonging.

Lost by David Wagner

Stand still. The trees ahead & bushes behind you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.

No trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush is is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,

 I hear it in the deep heart's core.