September letter..

Deb babe, That sounds very slick. Perhaps I shall adopt it now. (As it is near the witching hour it must be pure Inspiration ) Anyway, I thought to put these poems together; it’s been ages since I did anything like this. Plus by all indications I’ve become increasingly soft must be British weather(wet).So here goes. The first is by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, classic And nice. Reminds me of an advert for a car (un-academic association, then again, that’s what the media has reduced us to...).She writes very beautiful, poignant poetry, the sort you read when you’re feeling pure (of love and thought and High brow (yes, I said that).I like E.E. Cummings, I think you already know that. He is earthy and Down to earth and irreverent!(which I a contrast with most poets..And people).I included I hold your heart in my hands’–it has done its rounds in movies in the last year or so, so it may not be new to you. You will see why. Look for I am a little church (not a cathedral)’.Oh, also ‘since feeling is First’. There’s one which I can’t find, about dirty boys and girls. I shall ask David I think it’s his favorite. Khalil Gibran an Arab with a gift, can’t remember if I shared with you his book,’ prophet’. Joni had it (still has it) so maybe not. He speaks of things that we can’t say, feelings (so deep)that we can’t give (them) voice.Ok, the end or today, Rabindrath Tagore ~Ida-Marie

I carry your heart with me I carry your heart with me(I carry it in my heart)

I am never without it(anywhere I go you go, my dear; 

and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)

I want no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true) 

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant 

and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows 

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart) 

~ee cummings 

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

How do I love thee?

Let me count the ways. 

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, 

when feeling out of sight For the ends of being an ideal grace.

I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. 

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. 

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, 

and with my childhood's faith. 

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. 

I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; 

and, if God choose, 

I shall but love thee better after death

~  Elizabeth Barrett Browning 

Song of the Soul XXII

In the depth of my soul there is A wordless song - a song that lives In the seed of my heart.

It refuses to melt with ink on Parchment; it engulfs my affection In a transparent cloak and flows, 

But not upon my lips. How can I sigh it? I fear it may Mingle with earthly ether;

To whom shall I sing it? It dwells In the house of my soul, in fear of Harsh ears. 

When I look into my inner eyes I see the shadow of its shadow; 

When I touch my fingertips I feel its vibrations.

The deeds of my hands heed its Presence as a lake must reflect The glittering stars; 

my tears Reveal it, as bright drops of dew Reveal the secret of a withering rose. 

It is a song composed by contemplation, And published by silence, 

And shunned by clamor, And folded by truth, And repeated by dreams, 

And understood by love, And hidden by awakening, 

And sung by the soul. It is the song of love; 

What Cain or Esau could sing it? It is more fragrant than jasmine; 

What voice could enslave it? It is heart bound, as a virgin's secret; 

What string could quiver it? Who dares unite the roar of the sea And the singing of the nightingale?

Who dares compare the shrieking tempest To the sigh of an infant? 

Who dares speak aloud the words Intended for the heart to speak? 

What human dares sing in voice The song of God? 

 ~ Khalil Gibran 

A Moments Indulgence 

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. 

The works that I have in hand I will finish afterwards. 

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite, 

and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil. 

Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; 

and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove. 

Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, 

and to sing dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.

~  Rabindranath Tagore