Sunday Poem ~

On the Beach at Night

by Walt Whitman

On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.
Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.
From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.
Weep not, child,
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears,
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,
Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.
Then dearest child mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?
Something there is,
(With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter
Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades.
Photo Credit: Kevin Adams http://www.kevinadamsphoto.com
Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility
‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle
Victoria Kaloss

Sunday Poem ~

A SUMMER DAY

by Lucy Maud Montgomery

I

THE dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.

II

Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer’s cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.

III

Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O’er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
‘Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.

http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/montgomery/watchman/watchman.html#68

 Summer is here

 

I do believe Summer has finally arrived 🙂

 

Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility

‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle

Victoria Kaloss

Sunday Poem ~

Serenade

Djuna Barnes

 

http://academyofamericanpoets.cmail19.com/t/ViewEmail/y/93CA133F7EAE950A/F7AC937704804FC38BD4C707EBCCB890

Have you subscribed to the Academy of American Poets’Poem-A-Day’ yet?

 

little treasures by the shore

Photo Credit: Victoria Kaloss

Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility

‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle

Victoria Kaloss

 

Trump’s budget bites the disabled

The tag-line for this blog is: ‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle

Trump’s proposed budget dims our country’s long standing core belief for

humanitarianism

compassion

liberty and justice

for All.

Marking the disabled

Photo Credit: Victoria Kaloss

Read here how Trump plans to revamp the budget by placing the disabled in direct harm, truly life and death for one of our most vulnerable populations – mostly death.

Disability doesn’t discriminate even if our government does – just saying.

http://www.latimes.com/business/hiltzik/la-fi-hiltzik-trump-disabled-20170522-story.html

 

Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility

‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle

Victoria Kaloss

 

Sunday Poem ~

 

The Cloud.jpg

Photo by Victoria Kaloss

The Cloud 

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.

I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night ’tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning my pilot sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven’s blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardours of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest,
As still as a brooding dove.

That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o’er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent’s thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

I bind the Sun’s throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon’s with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-coloured bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.

I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/45117?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Poetryfoundationorg%20Newsletter&utm_content=Poetryfoundationorg%20Newsletter+CID_19112d6a3efdab5ca1f62e25872efb70&utm_source=Campaign%20Monitor&utm_term=The%20Cloud%20by%20Percy%20Bysshe%20Shelley

Do you see clouds from a new perspective? Yeah, me too 🙂

Enjoy!

Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility

‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle

Victoria Kaloss

Happy Easter ~

2017 easter32017 easter3

Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility
‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle
Victoria Kaloss

Spring Arrives ~

My backyard tells me so ~

Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility
‘One can judge a nation by the way it treats its most vulnerable’ ~ Aristotle
Victoria Kaloss
Photo Credits: Victoria Kaloss

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