Lift

August 4, 2018

To stand with mind akimbo where the wind riffles the ridge. Slow, slow jazz: it must begin before the instrument with bones dreaming themselves hollow and the dusk rising in them like a sloth ascending. Moon, night after night rehearsing shades of pause and spill, sifting into reed beds, silvering the fine hairs on your arms, making rhythm out of light and nothing, making months. What have I ever made of life or it of me, all I ever asked for was to be remembered constantly by everything I ever touched.

Don Mckay
From: Lift
Camber: Selected Poems (McClelland & Stewart Ltd, 2004)

Then I can breathe

July 28, 2018

I like the dark part of the night, after midnight and before four-thirty, when it’s hollow, when ceilings are harder and farther away. Then I can breathe, and can think while others are sleeping, in a way can stop time, can have it so – this has always been my dream – so that while everyone else is frozen, I can work busily about them, doing whatever it is that needs to be done, like the elves who make the shoes while children sleep.

Dave Eggers
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

Voices

April 12, 2018

Ideal voices and beloved
of those who have died, or of those
who are lost to us like the dead.

Sometimes, within our dreams, they speak;
sometimes the mind can hear them in our thoughts.

And with their sound for an instant return
sounds from the early poetry of our life –
like music in the night, faraway, that fades.

C P Cavafy
Trans. Anthony Hirst

lost boundaries

March 20, 2018

When I looked up through the web of trees, the night fell over me, and for a moment I lost my boundaries, feeling like the sky was my own skin and the moon was my heart beating up there in the dark.

Sue Monk Kidd
The Secret Life of Bees

dreams

February 8, 2018

I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams.

Virginia Woolf
The Waves

tell me of night

October 10, 2017

In the evening, when everything is tired and quiet, I sit with Walt Whitman by the rose beds and listen to what that lonely and beautiful spirit has to tell me of night, sleep, death, and the stars. This dusky, silent hour is his; and this is the time when I can best hear the beatings of that most tender and generous heart.

Elizabeth von Arnim
The Solitary Summer

The night belongs to women

October 1, 2017

Women should never fear the night. It is their domain. They are strongly linked to the moon, and during the night feminine energy flows strongest and the Goddess is in the air. The night belongs to women and moonlight is reflected from their souls…

Night

August 15, 2017

Slides under door jambs
pouring through windows
painting my room black.

This evening was spent
watching old movies.
Song and dance actors
looping through gay,
improbable plots.

All my plates are put away,
cups hanging on hooks.
The towel is still moist.

I blow out cinnamon candles
wafting the air with spice.
Listening now to dogs
barking at winds and
sputtering of heat.

Winter pummels skeletal
trees as the moon’s big
yellow eye haunts shadows.

Joan McNerney

Snowy Night

July 21, 2017

Last night, an owl
in the blue dark
tossed
an indeterminate number
of carefully shaped sounds into
the world, in which,
a quarter of a mile away, I happened
to be standing.
I couldn’t tell
which one it was –
the barred or the great-horned
ship of the air –
it was that distant. But, anyway,
aren’t there moments
that are better than knowing something,
and sweeter? Snow was falling,
so much like stars
filling the dark trees
that one could easily imagine
its reason for being was nothing more
than prettiness. I suppose
if this were someone else’s story
they would have insisted on knowing
whatever is knowable – would have hurried
over the fields
to name it – the owl, I mean.
But it’s mine, this poem of the night,
and I just stood there, listening and holding out
my hands to the soft glitter
falling through the air. I love this world,
but not for its answers.
And I wish good luck to the owl,
whatever its name –
and I wish great welcome to the snow,
whatever its severe and comfortless
and beautiful meaning.

Mary Oliver

Night

April 12, 2017