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

World Poetry Day!

 

***
“Hope” is the thing with feathers – (314)
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
***
Trees
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
***
I could go on 😉
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 Anti-Suffragists
Fashionable women in luxurious homes,
With men to feed them, clothe them, pay their bills,
Bow, doff the hat, and fetch the handkerchief;
Hostess or guest, and always so supplied
With graceful deference and courtesy;
Surrounded by their servants, horses, dogs, —
These tell us they have all the rights they want.
Successful women who have won their way
Alone, with strength of their unaided arm,
Or helped by friends, or softly climbing up
By the sweet aid of ‘woman’s influence’;
Successful any way, and caring naught
For any other woman’s unsuccess, —
These tell us they have all the rights they want.
Religious women of the feebler sort, —
Not the religion of a righteous world,
A free, enlightened, upward-reaching world,
But the religion that considers life
As something to back out of! — whose ideal
Is to renounce, submit, and sacrifice,
Counting on being patted on the head
And given a high chair when they get to heaven, —
These tell us they have all the rights they want.
Ignorant women — college-bred sometimes,
But ignorant of life’s realities
And principles of righteous government,
And how the privileges they enjoy
Were won with blood and tears by those before —
Those they condemn, whose ways they now oppose;
Saying, ‘Why not let well enough alone?
Our world is very pleasant as it is,’ —
These tell us they have all the rights they want.
And selfish women, — pigs in petticoats, —
Rich, poor, wise, unwise, top or bottom round,
But all sublimely innocent of thought,
And guiltless of ambition, save the one
Deep, voiceless aspiration — to be fed!
These have no use for rights or duties more.
Duties today are more than they can meet,
And law insures their right to clothes and food, —
These tell us they have all the rights they want.
And, more’s the pity, some good women, too;
Good conscientious women, with ideas;
Who think — or think they think — that woman’s cause
Is best advanced by letting it alone;
That she somehow is not a human thing,
And not to be helped on by human means,
Just added to humanity — an ‘L’ —
A wing, a branch, an extra, not mankind, —
These tell us they have all the rights they want.
And out of these has come a monstrous thing,
A strange, down-sucking whirlpool of disgrace,
Women uniting against womanhood,
And using that great name to hide their sin!
Vain are their words as that old king’s command
Who set his will against the rising tide.
But who shall measure the historic shame
Of these poor traitors — traitors are they all —
To great Democracy and Womanhood!

 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/52090

 

Use your right to vote~

 

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 ~

Wet-weather Talk

by James Whitcomb Riley

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/45895

beautiful-rain-pictures-45-photos- (16)

Photo credit: http://www.funmag.org

Safe and sound this Labor Day Weekend~

Play nice, Hermine.

 

 

Living Life to the Best of you Possibility

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

Victoria Kaloss

Sunday Poem ~ under the wire!

Wet-weather Talk

 

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/45895

 

A fun little poem!

Hope you 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

 

Sunday Poem (Audio)

The Dogs at Live Oak Beach, Santa Cruz

 

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/audio/detail/74944

 

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 ~

Birches

by Robert Frost

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/44260

We had a swaying silver birch in our front yard. During an ice storm, the three branches curved, stuck to ice like spider legs.

I remember how we worried over the little tree’s survival through the winter.

Swaying Silver Birch lived – silver lining perhaps.

Tall majestic birches touch my soul. No wonder, the white peeling bark tree stands tall in multi-cultural symbolism – birches, poem worthy, rune worthy, totem worthy and

Healer of hollow hearts – http://www.ecoenchantments.co.uk/myogham_birchpage.html

Enjoy!

 

Living Life to the Best of Your Possibility

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

Victoria KalossP1050656 (1024x768)

Photography by Victoria Kaloss

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