In honor of Veteran's Day

We learned to recite this poem in grammar school in honor of Veteran's Day. The first two lines of the poem have remained in my mind even though the rest of the poem has not. The poppy is a symbol of remembrance and hope according to what I have read online. I can remember being given a red paper poppy to pin to my school uniform on Veteran's Day. I always wondered what it symbolized and now I know. We are acknowledging that we remember and support all the armed forces in the world, and that we hope for a peaceful future. 

Poppies grow in my garden; the flowers are lovely but fragile. I'm not sure what type of poppies they are, just that they're red. When the wind blows through the garden it scatters the red petals that are torn off the flowers by the wind. But poppy seeds spread well in a garden and a gardener can end up with a small field of red poppies blowing in the wind. 

In Flanders Fields

BY JOHN MCCRAE

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

 Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

 In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

Plato's dream--my poem from Remnants of the Spirit World

Another poem from my collection--Remnants of the Spirit World (Remnants of the Spirit World: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9781495376450: Amazon.com: Books). I remember when I first studied the philosophy of Plato in college--I found his theory of the forms both difficult and fascinating. The Forms are described as the most pure (perfect) of all things; they exist outside of mortal time. Somewhat like heaven? Plato held that true knowledge/intelligence was the ability to understand the world of Forms with one's mind, which was controversial because it is not possible to understand perfection using an imperfect mind. 

Plato’s dream                  copyright Paula Mary De Angelis 

Being born

From nothing

Taking form

Now something

Outside space and time

Perfection of the Forms

Acquiring a body

Changes rules and norms

Seeking back to birth

Time before in space

Seeking back to earth

Before the fall from grace

Pardon--my poem from 2011 about wanting to change my life

This is a poem I wrote back in 2011. I understood already then that I was done with the academic work world as I knew it then and know it now. You have to love the political arena, love the fight, love the competition, love to win. Perhaps at one time I did, but at around the time that I wrote the poem I simply wanted no part of the academic political arena anymore. I'm not sure how or even why it happened, just that it did. I think my soul asserted itself and demanded that I pay attention to what it had to say, and I did. This poem is from my collection of poems entitled Remnants of the Spirit World that I published in 2014; you can find it on Amazon: Remnants of the Spirit World: De Angelis, Paula Mary: 9781495376450: Amazon.com: Books

Pardon                   copyright Paula M. De Angelis 

Pardon my wandering toward the door

The light beyond it shines so

I turn my head, I hear a call

And see a past that won’t let go.

Pardon my gazing at the floor

While you speak of many things

My soul’s discovered it wants more

Than small ideas and earthly things.

Pardon my wishing for release

From this prison of daily grind.

What I know is I want peace,

Serenity for a weary mind.

Pardon my wandering toward the field

Of dreams and hope and light

I’ve reached the point where I shall yield

The frenzied floor without a fight.

 

My poetry collections

I've been writing poetry for many years, since I was fourteen years old. During the past ten years or so, I've been able to publish most of what I've written over the years as different poetry collections, which I've listed here:

• Cemetery Road, published in 2019
• Quantum Bloom, published in 2015
• One Hundred Haikus for Modern Workplaces, published in 2014
• Remnants of the Spirit World, published in 2014
• Parables and Voices, published in 2011  

All of them are available for purchase on Amazon.com 

My Amazon Author page provides the links to each book: Amazon.com: Paula M. De Angelis: Books, Biography, Blog, Audiobooks, Kindle

The prayer of St. Francis

Finding some peace in the midst of all the noise around us--that's hard these days. Finding joy in the midst of all the chaos in the world--that's hard these days. Finding true purpose in the midst of all the confusion and fake news in the world--that's hard these days. But there is truth and right and wrong. We know that intuitively. We know what's right and wrong, what's ethical and unethical. We know because our consciences tell us that there are differences between what's right and wrong, ethical and unethical. It matters what we say and do. It matters how we treat others. Civility and manners matter. Empathy matters. Kindness matters. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. Strength can be measured by the quality of a person's character. The more good qualities a person has, the stronger that person is. 

This is the prayer of St. Francis. He did not write it according to my online search, but it is beautiful nonetheless: 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me bring love.

Where there is offence, let me bring pardon.

Where there is discord, let me bring union.

Where there is error, let me bring truth.

Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.

Where there is despair, let me bring hope.

Where there is darkness, let me bring your light.

Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.

O Master, let me not seek as much

to be consoled as to console,

to be understood as to understand,

to be loved as to love,

for it is in giving that one receives,

it is in self-forgetting that one finds,

it is in pardoning that one is pardoned,

it is in dying that one is raised to eternal life.

Brilliant poem--The Journey by Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver is fast becoming one of my favorite poets. She speaks to me in nearly every poem of hers I read. 


“The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.”

― Mary Oliver

Black Cherries--a poem by W.S. Merwin

I often find myself thinking about how human beings are an odd mixture of so many different interests and influences. I know I fit that description. I can go from listening to hard rock one day, to reading and finding meaning in a poem that touches me with its simplicity the next day. The fact that we can move from one sphere to another freely, is what makes us human. I am glad for the incongruities and illogical behavior I see in myself, because I find it helps me relate to others (who are much the same).

In that vein, moving on from yesterday's post about a rock song that I really like, here is a poem that I found this morning in a New York Times obituary for the poet W.S. Merwin (https://www.nytimes.com/2019/03/15/obituaries/w-s-merwin-dead-poet-laureate.html?smid=fb-nytimes&smtyp=cur&fbclid=IwAR0hJX5PK6Zmj_gY_mBuKHfBPLAS3yhWUXMtyKvd2F9l9fhG1HZnYJVmFfI). I haven't read much of his poetry, but that can be remedied. This poem is entitled Black Cherries, and it is a beautiful poem.


BLACK CHERRIES

Late in May as the light lengthens
toward summer the young goldfinches
flutter down through the day for the first time
to find themselves among fallen petals
cradling their day’s colors in the day’s shadows
of the garden beside the old house
after a cold spring with no rain
not a sound comes from the empty village
as I stand eating the black cherries
from the loaded branches above me
saying to myself Remember this

 by W.S. Merwin

Cemetery Road--my new poetry collection

I recently published my fifth collection of poetry, entitled Cemetery Road. It was written following my brother's death in 2015. As the book description reads:

How do we deal with the death of a loved one? These poems were written following the untimely death of the author's brother, and touch on our ever-present awareness of mortality as well as on our feelings of loss and grief in connection with death. They also touch on the losses that all of us experience as we age, be they letting go of our past or of our identities in society, and the grief attached to both.

It is available on Amazon.com: http://tinyurl.com/y4ww8xh4

Saying goodbye to a wonderful teacher and a dear friend

Some people come into your life and stay there for a lifetime. They are sent to you by God, for a reason. They are generous people--with their time, their patience, their kindness, and their encouragement. They touch your life and change it forever, settling as they do into your heart. If you are so lucky to know such a person, you know that you have been blessed. I honor such a person today--my high school English teacher Brendan (born in Ireland) who noticed the quiet reserved student, and who encouraged her to write poetry. He died yesterday, after a long illness. We had corresponded on and off during the past forty years, mostly during the past decade after our high school reunion in 2009. And of course we connected on Facebook along with everyone else. But gradually there were less and less emails as his illness robbed him of the abilities to walk and to use his hands to write. But the desire to share a poem with me, or vice versa, was always there. Our mutual interest in all things poetic was in itself, poetic. It's not everyday you find someone with whom you can discuss poetry. I will miss that about him, and so much more. He made room for people in his life, and I see from the condolences on his Facebook wall that those many people remember him now. Many of them feel the same way about him as I do, for different reasons. He brought out the best in everyone. He left this world on the same day, January 17th, as the well-known American poet, Mary Oliver, whose poems we both liked. I am sure he has found his home in heaven now. I'd like to think that he and my father, who also loved all things literary, will find a moment together to share and discuss a favorite poem or two should they meet. I hope they do.

There is a poem I wrote when I returned from my first visit to Ireland in 2011, a poem that he really liked. He was thrilled to hear at that time that I had finally gotten to Ireland. I include the poem here. Rest in peace, my dear friend. Fear, dread, and death no longer have any power over you.

In the Shadows of Giants

I walk in the shadows of giants
Stand in the splendor of kings
Mute in the presence of tyrants
Lost in the halls that sing

I roam the passage that beckons
Ancient the call that keens
Lithe is the fairy that reckons
Spirit remains unseen

I fly in the temple of sinners
Eat at the tables of saints
Join with the forces of winners
Scarce are the jabs and the feints

I reel in the smoke of the fire
That burns in the halls of the kings
Fly in the face of ire
Sail with the lords of the rings

I forage the future of time
Divine with the rod of the druids
All things about me sublime
All things about me are fluid

I stand in the shadows of giants
Walk in the presence of lights
Far out upon the horizon
Dancing about me like sprites

I speak in the tongues of the ancients
Keen with the songs of the dead
Free my soul from the dungeons
Of fear, of death, and of dread

Copyright 2011 Paula Mary De Angelis

A beautiful poem by William Butler Yeats--The Song of Wandering Aengus

The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor

I went to blow the fire aflame,

But something rustled on the floor,

And some one called me by my name:

It had become a glimmering girl

With apple blossom in her hair

Who called me by my name and ran

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering

Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

I will find out where she has gone,

And kiss her lips and take her hands;

And walk among long dappled grass,

And pluck till time and times are done

The silver apples of the moon,

The golden apples of the sun.

by William Butler Yeats

A beautiful poem for spring by Robert Frost

A Prayer in Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.

And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.

For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.

The wisdom of Mary Oliver

Mary Oliver intrigues me with her simple wisdom that goes right to the heart of things. She writes about the things that matter in life. There is no way that you can read her words without being affected by them, without some part of you knowing that you've been touched by the truth. And having been touched by the truth, that you know that you must abide by it. Here are some of her words of wisdom in the form of quotes and poems........

·         Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

·         Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift.

·         Instructions for living a life.

Pay attention.

Be astonished.

Tell about it.

·         Listen--are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?

•   To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work.

·         Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

·         The most regretful people on earth are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.

·         You can have the other words-chance, luck, coincidence, serendipity. I'll take grace. I don't know what it is exactly, but I'll take it.

·         Still, what I want in my life

is to be willing

to be dazzled—

to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even

to float a little

above this difficult world.

·         to live in this world

you must be able

to do three things

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go

·         When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,

or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

One of those poems that you just recognize intuitively as truth

The Journey

by Mary Oliver


One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice – - -
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
‘Mend my life!’
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.

You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations – - -
though their melancholy
was terrible.It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.

But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice,
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do – - – determined to save
the only life you could save.

The poem Funeral Blues, by WH Auden

A good friend sent me this poem recently because he had been watching the film Four Weddings and a Funeral, and this is the poem that is recited during the funeral service in that film. He also knows that I like Auden's poetry, as did my father. There have been so many artists and musicians who have died recently, but today is also the one-year anniversary of my brother's death. I know there are others reading this who will understand the feelings expressed in this poem. 

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

A very good poem--The Second Coming--by William Butler Yeats

The Second Coming



Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.




Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

-----------------------------------------------------------

Why is it that I think that this poem by William Butler Yeats becomes more relevant for our world for each year that passes? Is it because I am getting older that I am beginning to really see the anarchy in the world and the blatant disregard for the life around us--be it human, animal, bird, fish or insect? We are polluting our planet with pesticides that are killing the bees and butterflies. Without the bees to pollinate crops, there will be fewer types of the fruits and vegetables that we at present take for granted. It will affect food production on a global scale. This is one problem. Another problem is that these pesticides are finding their way into our drinking water, and they will cause more damage to all life that way in the form of increased cancer risk and other health problems. We don't need these chemicals inside us, nor do animals, fish, birds and insects. The things we do in this life and the way we behave toward the life around us affect the lives around us. We are not the inhabitants of an island; everything we do and say has an effect on the life around us. We need to wake up and really 'see' that fact. If we see it, then it becomes a no-brainer that we need to take care of the life on this planet, for ourselves and future generations. I am glad to see that there are movements in society that are focusing on locally-grown organic farm products. I am also glad to see that many people want to know where their meat and produce come from and how they were treated before they were made available to consumers. Every bit of knowledge helps us to grow and to evolve into a society that is not preoccupied with making huge profits at the expense of our planet's future. Because we need to ask ourselves, as Yeats did--what is the beast that is moving slowly toward Bethlehem to be born? And what will happen to mankind when it is born?

A new poem for my brother

Moving on

Seven months have come and gone

Months you did not get to see

All the life that once was yours

Weeks gone by, life moved on

Thinking of you, not forgotten

But then there are those sudden thoughts

A hand grips tightly round my heart

Is life’s struggle all for naught?

Were your life and death in vain?

So unfair, your early exit

Left behind uncertain fates

And sad hearts that know of pain

Seven months have come and gone

Those in your life move on without you

I see you in my mind’s eye alone

I wish I could have protected you

copyright 2015

Paula M. De Angelis

A new poem--Summer

Summer

Days of puffy clouds

Spread out upon a sunlit blue canvas

Cycling along a country road

Scent of cinnamon from the meadow plants

Along the roadside.

Days of happiness

Spent in summer’s sunshine

Carefree days and long nights

Birds calling to each other young and old

In the trees outside the window.

Days of green grass and leafy trees

A harmony of colors rich and light

The scent of roses and of lilacs

And honeysuckle that grows wild

Untended bushes of perfume.

Days of voluminous gray clouds

Portend the thunderstorms in wait

Misty rain upon the parched plants

Ominous the sound of distant thunder

That brings the cooling rain.

Never quite so happy as in summer

Days of green of peace of sun of light

Days of meaning from doing little more

Than contemplating nature

And the life around us. 

-----------------------------

copyright Paula M. De Angelis

July 2015

The poem Quantum Bloom from my poetry collection Quantum Bloom

My sister loves this poem, so I decided to share it with you. It is from my recently-published collection of poems--Quantum Bloom (http://www.amazon.com/Quantum-Bloom-Paula-Mary-Angelis/dp/1505211166). The poem was inspired by a photo I saw on Facebook of a tree stump crying (someone had drawn the tears on the stump). But it made a lasting impression on me, as well as making me sad. It got me to thinking how many trees are cut down for no reason at all, other than that a house owner wanted less shade and more sun, so the tree had to go. That happens a lot here in Oslo, unfortunately. Perhaps other places as well. The older I get, the more respect I have for the nature around us, and the more I appreciate trees, the birds that live in them, and the rest of nature. We take nature for granted, that it will always be there for us. But one day it may not be. And we will look back in regret that we did not take better care of our earth. 

Quantum bloom

A lone tree stump

Pushing its way up from the pavement

The sidewalk askew

A tree’s life ended

Because its desire to spread its roots

Was not met with understanding

But rather with a need for control

Executed through the mighty saw

A lone tree’s life ended

In this universe

But perhaps the same tree lives on

In another universe

A parallel one

Or even in multiple worlds

Far less controlling places

Where trees can spread their roots

Where their desire to bloom and grow

Is not met with the inhabitants’ desires

To crimp and to control

Lone tree standing

Firm and tall

Against the elements

Against the winds, the storms,

Against man’s non-understanding

Of what it takes to grow a tree

Of what a tree needs to call a place

Its home

Of what the birds need in the way of home

When in search of cover

In parallel universes

Perhaps trees are sovereign, supreme

Birds too

Perhaps man’s punishment for meting out death

To trees and likewise birds

Is to suffer the understanding of what it means

To destroy life

While imprisoned in a forever place of death

In multiple universes

copyright 2014  Paula M. De Angelis 

A poem by Joy Davidman

Waltzing Mouse               

Impaled I was when I was born,

Caught upon time’s nether horn,

Murdered through and through with birth,                                                                

Cankered with corrupted earth …

Slick between my fingers run

Sands of time from sun to sun,

Grains of hunger and delight,

Diapered with dark and bright;

Kisses and confusions pass

Dribbling through the fat hourglass ….

And I skip from minute to minute

Each one with me buried in it,

And I see my bridges burn

Gold behind me as I turn,

And I see my painful track

Blotted out behind my back

Till I die as I was born,

Slain upon time’s other horn.

-----------------

written by Joy Davidman

Quantum Bloom published

A nice update--my fourth collection of poetry entitled Quantum Bloom was published yesterday and is available on Amazon at: 

http://www.amazon.com/Quantum-Bloom-Paula-Mary-Angelis/dp/1505211166