Posts

Image
I hope you gain something, from reading my words; by gazing at my moments captured be it a raging wind a scorching sun or even perhaps, an echo from the wilderness  These are my words The only ones I can give to you The only ones I know how, to sing to you For they are the bare bones of my breath and come from my Souls essence *Where the Moon always stays awake  (in my morning) and then dares to sleep inside (at night)* So with each turning tide (of time),  your Summer songs will be  silenced These are my words  The only ones I can give             * to you *
Image
  Daring to bare More than you cared to share  Challenging yourself
Image
  Rinsing blue ink Washing away those words Unspeaking sounds 

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/dec/05/poem-of-the-week-holy-sonnet-xix-by-john-donne

Image
  Support us The Guardian - Back to home The Guardian: news website of the year News Opinion Sport Culture Lifestyle Show caption Carol Rumens's poem of the week Poem of the week: Holy Sonnet XIX by John Donne The great love poet is here locked in an anxious wrestle with his religious conscience Carol Rumens Mon 5 Dec 2022 05.00 EST Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share via Email Sonnet XIX Oh, to vex me, contraryes meet in one: Inconstancy unnaturally hath begott A constant habit; that when I would not I change in vowes, and in devotione. As humorous is my contritione  As my prophane Love, and as soon forgott: As riddlingly distemper’d, cold and hott  As praying, as mute; as infinite, as none. I durst not view heaven yesterday; and to day In prayers, and flatt’ring speeches I court God: To morrow I quake with true feare of his rod. So my devout fitts come and go away Like a fantastique Ague: save that here Those are my best dayes, when I shake with feare. John Donne (1572-1631)