by Gregory Orr
This is what was bequeathed us:
This earth the beloved left
And, leaving,
Left to us.
No other world
But this one:
Willows and the river
And the factory
With its black smokestacks.
No other shore, only this bank
On which the living gather.
No meaning but what we find here.
No purpose but what we make.
That, and the beloved’s clear instructions:
Turn me into song; sing me awake.
from: How Beautiful the Beloved by Gregory Orr. Copyright © 2009 by Gregory Orr.
WELCOME. Take a moment to kick off your shoes, relax, and refill your cup. Enjoy some poetry and a bit of art. Browse through the assorted offerings, and hopefully you'll find something helpful, informative, or just fun. Oh, And chocolate!
Showing posts with label Gregory Orr. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gregory Orr. Show all posts
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
IT IS SPRING, AND THERE IS SO MUCH POSSIBILITY TODAY
To be alive by Gregory Orr
To be alive: not just the carcass
But the spark.
That's crudely put, but…
If we're not supposed to dance,
Why all this music?
From Concerning the Book that is the Body of the Beloved by Gregory Orr. Copyright © 2005 by Gregory Orr.
NPR.
Blue Flower Arts.
BOOKS
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