“October” by W.S. Merwin

 I remember how I would say, “I will gather

These pieces together,
Any minute now I will make
A knife out of a cloud.”
Even then the days
Went leaving their wounds behind them,
But, “Monument,” I kept saying to the grave,
“I am still your legend.”

There was another time
When our hands met and the clocks struck
And we lived on the point of a needle, like angels.

I have seen the spider’s triumph
In the palm of my hand. Above
My grave, that thoroughfare,
There are words now that can bring
My eyes to my feet, tamed.
Beyond the trees wearing names that are not their own
The paths are growing like smoke.

The promises have gone,
Gone, gone, and they were here just now.
There is the sky where they laid their fish.
Soon it will be evening.

 

The Point of the Needle

• 
• 
• 
• 

Dana Levin

Since you got to behead

each

              hollyhock crown

              with your round

              guillotine

              of a mouth―

I hope you get to spin inside your

               paper house.

              Emerge Noctuidae,

              owlet moth, 

              laying your eggs in leaves at night.

    

That you might finish your stitch―

Replicate yourself in time so you are

              always present―

              each egg a deposit―

              an echo-pearl of “you” along time’s string―

That my soul might be allowed

              to flourish―

Make a success

              of threading flesh, to participate 

              again in time, on 

              long arcs between sets of plunge, even though

                            it hurt―

                            to be born and die―

                            it loved to ride

                                          the point

                                          of the needle―

 

Emily Dickinson   Follow

A Clock stopped -

287

A Clock stopped - 
Not the Mantel's -
Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing -
That just now dangled still -

An awe came on the Trinket!
The Figures hunched, with pain -
Then quivered out of Decimals -
Into Degreeless Noon -

It will not stir for Doctors -
This Pendulum of snow -
The Shopman importunes it -
While cool - concernless No -

Nods from the Gilded pointers -
Nods from Seconds slim -
Decades of Arrogance between
The Dial life -
And Him -

Another Time by Wystan Hugh Auden

 

Another Time - meaning Summary

Living in the Present

Auden’s poem argues that human life exists only in the present, contrasting immediate being with people who seek identity in history, flags, and ownership. Those who refuse the present cannot truly say "I am" and attempt to hide in old certainties. That refusal produces grief and loneliness. The poem ends by insisting time will have other lives, so clinging to past belonging offers no real solace.

It's our sacred duty to defend Israel

 Jihadist rockets just killed more Israeli civilians. Iran is actively firing waves of ballistic missiles, injuring hundreds of Israelis.

The Iron Dome can't stop them all. Iran has one goal – the utter destruction of Israel – and it has been demanding all Muslim nations join its genocidal death cult. We cannot allow this evil to continue.

Yet Iran's sadistic allies at the U.N. and the International Criminal Court are still trying to issue arrest warrants for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu. New York City's new socialist Mayor Mamdani has pledged to arrest him. And even some "conservative" personalities are turning their back on Israel. It's madness.

It's our sacred duty to defend Israel.

We've mobilized our offices in Jerusalem, Europe, and Washington, D.C., in one of the most important legal efforts we've ever taken on to defend Israel. NEXT WEEK we're sending an emergency submission to the U.N. Security Council defending Israel's right to exist and defend itself.

Israel's very existence is on the line. Now, as we battle the unlimited resources of enemies that seek to eradicate Israel, we need YOU.

We're in the final days of our Double Your Impact drive, and we're short of our goal. But you can still have your gift DOUBLED today.

Have Your Gift DOUBLED TODAY To Defend Israel.

Stop the madness. Stand with us as we defend Israel.

Sign NOW: Defend Israel From Evil Attacks.

Jordan Sekulow
ACLJ Executive Director

 

Past Present & Future

Alero “The Mimz” Ogisi

Threat of loss of the benefit of the Black bodies  in bondage caused great fear The Confederacy didn’t care for Lincoln  The Civil War had been going on for over an entire year Lincoln then made a power move to get them to conform  He signed the Emancipation Proclamation it didn’t work though  the Confederacy pushed back with great determination After two years of battle full of frustration and ultimate humiliation  In April of 1865 Robert E. Lee surrendered ending the Civil War But see Black people were not truly free until  Freedom had blessed each and every door One instance was marching into Galveston Texas on June 19th  The News was spread strong and loud The Abolitionist had succeeded a true moment to be proud  The 13th Amendment it plugged up  Some of those holes that the Emancipation missed Please I encouraged you to put both of them on your must-read list The rejoice began the rebuilding surging through our Black veins  Building our community securing our Black reigns We are qualified builders and planters sowing the seed of upliftment Something out of nothing we build our own equipment Depending on where you lived is when you celebrated being free We didn’t have cell phones or the internet  News took some time to reach every city  April of ’62 began the festivities in DC Tennessee gotta glimpse at the end in August of ’63 Ohio grasped a hold to freedom in 1862 in September While Kentucky didn’t see freedom until 1865 in December Many Variations of a well-deserved celebration called by many names  Freedom Day Jubilee Day Emancipation Day 2nd Independence Day Throughout the United States freedom was celebrated Striving for upliftment not to be underestimated America was taking a turn and now suffered a great depression Designed laws which supported systemic oppression Fueled by greed corruption racism and domination None of that was stopped by the Emancipation Housing and education and the onset of strong Jim Crow Laws were being passed to protect the status quo Civil Rights movement Kwanzaa Boycotts  And the Rebellion caused the celebrations to be reignited Celebrating Black people abolishing racist laws got me excited Experiencing horrible tragedies we still try to instill hope Through education and upliftment we will have growth You changed the world George Juneteenth is a National Holiday An accumulation and great anticipation as we  Come together to strive forward  As a unified Black nation Going forward what does that mean One more day to sleep in and take a long bath One more day that you can get time and a half One more day from work or school One more BBQ to go to I challenge you to look into the eyes  Of our beautiful Black children  And make them a promise You will strive for them to learn all that they can be a leader in the crowd You will support perseverance to keep pushing and to be proud You will do your very best for them so they can succeed You will encourage them to thrive and plant the seed

Last Song of the Exile Miguel Teurbe Tolón

 

Poem-a-Day is reader-supported. Your gift today will help the Academy of American Poets continue to publish the work of 260 poets each year, and share this series with 320,000 readers every day. October 13, 2024

Last Song of the Exile Miguel Teurbe Tolón translated from the Spanish by Francisco Javier Vingut                                  I.    Hard my path on earth is closed; Light is dead within my heart. Star of Hope! thou art gone down;    Clay and spirit now must part!                                   II.     Land of flowers! no more thy breezes Sweetly shall my forehead kiss. Sky of Love! Thy beams of light    Shed no more celestial bliss!                                   III.    Foreign shores, o’er seas afar, I sought alone with many a tear Home is lost! no more of love,    No more of friends, no mother dear!                                   IV.    Harp of mine! thy woeful strains, Sadly echoing, soon shall die; Words no more with notes shall twine,——    Winds mid graves my lullaby.                                   V.    Dark and lone my grave will be From Cuba far, unmarked, unknown: Birds will chant my requiem wild,    And dew-drops fall for tears alone.                                   VI.    Fate, O Fate! I fain would read The record in thy book for me;—— Death, draw near! I list thy call;    Ope thy gates, Eternity

The Spirit of Poetry Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

The Spirit of Poetry

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

There is a quiet spirit in these woods, That dwells where’er the gentle southwind blows; Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade, The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air, The leaves above their sunny palms outspread. With what a tender and impassioned voice It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought, When the fast ushering star of morning comes O’er-riding the gray hills with golden scarf; Or when the cowled and dusky-sandaled Eve In mourning weeds, from out the western gate, Departs with silent pace! That spirit moves In the green valley, where the silver brook, From its full laver, pours the white cascade; And, babbling low amid the tangled woods, Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter. And frequent, on the everlasting hills, Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself In all the dark embroidery of the storm, And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid The silent majesty of these deep woods, Its presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth, As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air Their tops the green trees lift. Hence gifted bards Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades. For them there was an eloquent voice in all The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun, The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way, Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds, The swelling upland, where the sidelong sun Aslant the wooded slope, at evening, goes, Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in, Mountain, and shattered cliff, and sunnyvale, The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees, In many a lazy syllable, repeating Their old poetic legends to the wind. And this is the sweet spirit, that doth fill The world; and, in these wayward days of youth, My busy fancy oft embodies it, As a bright image of the light and beauty That dwell in nature; of the heavenly forms We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues That stain the wild bird’s wing and flush the clouds When the sun sets. Within her tender eye The heaven of April, with its changing light, And when it wears the blue of May, is hung, And on her lip the rich, red rose. Her hair Is like the summer tresses of the trees, When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek Blushes the richness of an autumn sky, With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath, It is so like the gentle air of Spring, As, from the morning’s dewy flowers, it comes Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy To have it round us, and her silver voice Is the rich music of a summer bird, Heard in the till night, with its passionate cadence.

Blessed are You, Force of the Universe

 Blessed are You, Force of the Universe

For creating me with anxiety.

You shaped me from a billion years of stardust

And breathed anxiety through my nostrils

And for that I give thanks.

I bless and thank my Anxiety Disorder for keeping me safe.

You make yourself known when you have an important message for me,

And at times in my life when I was not taking care of or valuing myself, and not listening to you,

You made yourself heard by shutting down my life so I’d have to stop and listen:

You did this by sending intrusive thoughts and a racing heart

Until all I could do was sit on my couch, an island of refuge I was terrified to leave

And all I could do was listen.

And because of your extreme measures — though unpleasant — I was able to start to take care of myself and honor my value:

I finally started therapy.

I left the relationship in which I was not treated according to my worth.

I turned away from other toxic relationships and focused on manifesting shalom, peace.

I paid more attention to what I wanted and to making my dreams a reality.

I learned more about my identity and built a relationship with myself that I sorely needed.

I did teshuvah, a repentant turning back

To myself.

I used to fear and despise you, but now I know that you are a part of me;

A confused golem in a corner of my brain, doing its best to protect me,

For that is what it was created to do.

Desperately trying to keep me safe

Out of love.

And now that I have learned to stop and listen to the message behind the feeling, I have learned to work with you rather than against you.

I have learned that caring for myself is the key to caring for you.

And have realized your messages are messages from Shamayim, Heaven.

You are malach sheli, my guardian angel.

For all of this, I thank and bless you, Anxiety Disorder.

Amen

From the Almagest

 Those who have been true philosophers, Syrus, seem to me to have very wisely separated the theoretical part of philosophy from the practical. For even if it happens the practical turns out to be theoretical prior to its being practical, nevertheless a great difference would be found in them; not only because some of the moral virtues can belong to the everyday ignorant man and it is impossible to come by the theory of whole sciences without learning, but also because in practical matters the greatest advantage is to be had from a continued and repeated operation upon the things themselves, while in theoretical knowledge it is to be had by a progress onward. We accordingly thought it up to us so to train our actions even in the application of the imagination as not to forget in whatever things we happen upon the consideration of their beautiful and well ordered disposition, and to indulge in meditation mostly for the exposition of many beautiful theorems and especially of those specifically called mathematical.

For indeed Aristotle quite properly divides also the theoretical into three immediate genera: the physical, the mathematical, and the theological. For given that all beings have their existence from matter and form and motion, and that none of these can be seen, but only thought, in its subject separately from the others, if one should seek out in its simplicity the first cause of the first movement of the universe, he would find God invisible and unchanging. And the kind of science which seeks after Him is the theological; for such an act can only be thought as high above somewhere near the loftiest things of the universe and is absolutely apart from sensible things. But the kind of science which traces through the material and ever moving quality, and has to do with the white, the hot, the sweet, the soft, and such things, would be called physical; and such an essence since it is only generally what it is, is to be found in corruptible things and below the lunar sphere. And the kind of science which shows up quality with respect to forms and local motions, seeking figure, number, and magnitude, and also place, time, and similar things, would be defined as mathematical. For such an essence falls, as it were, between the other two, not only because it can be conceived both through the senses and without the senses, but also because it is an accident in absolutely all beings both mortal and immortal, changing with those things that ever change, according to their inseparable form, and preserving unchangeable the changelessness of form in things eternal and of an ethereal nature.

the cherry end of your cigarette against the pale sky by Levi Romero

 

the cherry end of your cigarette against the pale sky

Levi Romero

outside the prickling air burned hot against what we’d left behind and all that we scraped and cupped ourselves for while trying to catch the last vestiges of someone’s history their life here and back and somewhere in that hummed and whistled journey across the plains and valleys and state lines invisible to hunger and thirst and the pursuit of want and need tomorrow the railroad tracks will shimmer in the heat of the summer that arrived as we were heading out of town because as in those things past we too have someplace we need to go what does it matter that there are no words to compensate for the longing and emptiness of the evening’s solitude brought in by the winds of our own stormy reluctance unwilling to settle for anything less than what we give in our taking our own words muted by a laughter-less language rattling bucket-empty like a windmill spinning against a prairie horizon that does not distinguish between yesterday or tomorrow them or us his or hers yours or mine it was what you didn’t say that caught my attention and how you pressed your lips to the wind your eyes blazing in the moonless night