Poetry

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

when the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

ideas, language, even the phrase each other

doesn’t make any sense.

The Invitation

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squar... See more

I want to know

if you are prepared to live in a world

with its harsh need

to change you. If you can look back

with firm eyes

saying this is where I stand.

— David Whyte, 'Self-Portrait' [from Fire in the Earth]

For long have I wandered,

in search of a place I can call my own

For a peace unknown,

Where one day I could

Rest my bones and be still

Poetry is an essential part of society—but only as itself and not as a vehicle for something else.

I keep six honest serving-men

(They taught me all I knew);

Their names are What and Why and When

And How and Where and Who.

I send them over land and sea,

I send them east and west;

But after they have worked for me,

I give them all a rest.

I let them rest from nine till five,

For I am busy then,

As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,

For they are hungry men... See more

In poetry, there is never a one-to-one correspondence between a word and its meaning. Instead, each word builds upon the words previous and the words that come after, and the poet chooses words not only for their sound but also their multiple meanings. Like herbs added to a soup or subtones and overtones in musical composition, each word adds not j... See more