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The Everlasting Small The Everlasting Small
by David Sparenberg
2022-08-20 08:36:46
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Even in the smallest experience: a bird on the branch of a tree in whatever season, a cup of tea and sounding of rain, one potato from that age-old land., a savory herb from out the gift of garden, a flower to caress a cheek and find the nostrils then the lips, too, the touch of a hand, the passing quickness of eye-beauty, colorful and lively-bright, entering eyes, deep silence of a snail pulling horns in from raindrops, the sigh of a sleeping infant, an infant’s breath, a four legged friend, a solitary afternoon, or even a lighted candle in the slow hypnotic dance of candle flame, and more and more and so much there besides: is cause, in wealth, for gratitude.

ever01_400For many yet and certain lands find heart’s ease and comfort in what is small and full and blessed timelessly with freedom in the quietude that let’s worry go and goes on without trouble or struggle, without shadow overhanging, or in fear. Not nearly enough bring it out into words and with childlike eagerness, wrapped prettily, to share, upending graveyards and the drear, dread culture of loneliness.

James Stephens once, partial to philosophy and Angus Og and gentleness and leprechauns, wrote a poem to Little Things, and Billy Yeats immortalized, countering the curse of progress, his longing-dream for the Lake Ilse of Innisfree. “I will arise and go now…”

Perhaps this is far too Romantic for a harried, hurrying, senseless, grabbing world? Ah then, but life loses its honey with no taste of romance and soon becomes, at center, gray emptiness where there is no poetry.

One need not be a poet either in a formal sense to keep a candle and a poem in the heart’s treasure or honey on the tongue and sensory wonderment and defiance of the soul.

Once so long, so long ago, in full of night, I came upon a meditative newt, glistening black, entranced in full moonlight. Unheeding of my drawing near, the soft fleshed creature, in magic all her own, appeared to smile a euphoria signaling all being well within herself, between her body-place and the bestowing moon, and all well between us too.

That, in Once Upon a Time, a slow motion offering from the openness of being, was itself both a secret of life, in relationship, and down to the essence of poetry. The memory has not faded form me.


Check David Sparenberg's NEW BOOK
The Fate Of The Poets - Selected poems 1974-2019
is online now and you can download for FREE HERE!



Also Check David Sparenberg's THE GREEN TROUBADOUR
A Source Book of Performance Ecosophy
download for FREE HERE!


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