Please join UUCP this Sunday at 10:30 a.m. for our service led by the UUCP Program Team. Come in from the cold and join us as we celebrate the joys of winter in poetry and song. Bring a poem to share.
Bring a friend and stay for coffee and light refreshments. We look forward to seeing you! #WinterPoetry#PoetrySunday
💯 #poetrysunday#christianwriter @learnagapelife
I stand at the edge of myself
United with the world around me
Things aren't the way I envisioned
Because I have not found peace
I see a reflection of my heart
In all of my surroundings
The good parts and the bad parts
Cover the soul of the county
The voice of my conscience
Revealed all things are my doing
The separation and despair
Flowed from thoughts of my choosing
I care for my country and generation
Because it is my body
Lord, help me to better myself
And the world around me will copy
Sometimes there are days where I think that maybe the reason I keep making mistakes is because I am one...
The feeling of being unworthy,
the fear of being a failure,
the sense of being an anomaly in a world which would have been better off without me.
I try to keep myself up,
I try to keep myself occupied,
I try to keep myself satisfied,
I try to reach for the sky but always end up getting stuck in the branches.
i have found what you are like
(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields
easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike
the air in utterable coolness
deeds of green thrilling light
-in the woods
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
- e e cummings .
These are the last weeks of autumn
When the air thins and pricks my cheeks.
Chilled ankle bones from the orange-coated ground.
These are the last days of autumn
Where crispness rots to mulch, leaks
Into boot soles, and sock-toes are drowned.
These are the last hours of autumn
Whose dwarfed days darken and dampen
Into December’s relentless rain.
These are the last minutes of autumn.
What a season to abandon.
But I know she Will come again.
What the sea brought in
Brooms ,brassiers, empty bottles
of booze. The tip of my brother's
missing forefinger. Bulbs,toothpaste caps,
instruments of grooming. Chestnuts,
carcass of coconut, crows, crabs.
Three dying fish, four dead grandparents.
Slippers of every stripe: rubber, leather,
Rexine, felt. Rope, mollusc, baleen, foam.
Two ghost children foraging their way
home. The Bootchie man, budgerigars,
a pack of poor poisoned dogs. Keys,
spoons, singular socks. Virginity returned
in a chastity box. Letters of love,
letters of lust, the 1980s, funeral dust.
What the sea brought in was enough
to fill museums - decapitated marigold,
broken Nautilus, a betrayed school friend
stuck in the dunes like the legs of Ozymandias.
Park benches, milk teeth, snake-skins,
cartwheels. Somewhere in the many years
of waking given over to sleep: a cavalcade
of cognitions, a mustard jumpsuit.
If everything we've lost were to return
with the sea, how simply we could offer
our sun-scarred lives, our solid mattresses.
Such solace to know that barnacles house
empires, that the feral creature of love
grows from gravestones of breakers,
blooms like wildflowers in the fetch.