Hymn To Diana
Ben Johnson

Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair,
 Now the sun is laid to sleep,
 Seated in thy silver chair
 State in wonted manner keep;
 Hesperus entreats thy light,
 Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
 Dare itself to interpose;
 Cynthia`s shining orb was made
 Heaven to clear when day did close:
 Bless us then with wished sight,
 Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart
 And thy crystal - shining quiver;
 Give unto the flying hart
 Space to breathe, how short soever:
 Thou that mak`st a day of night,
 Goddess excellently bright!

 The Slow Migration Of Glaciers
Jewel Kilcher

The slow migration of glaciers
unfolding through the centuries
their heavy wing
burdened with all the
weight of the earth
they move and carve and breathe

swollen rivers thick with soot
my pony and I drawing
      deep sharp breaths
as we cross
submerged
in all that is natural and Holy

To run free with you once more
to let my hair tangle itself
in a wind that knows only motion

to lose my heart once again
in the thorns of primrose
on the plains of Fox River Valley
lost in a maze of Timothy and Blue Grass hay.

These are the things which made me
these are the things I call home
these are the things that have filled
my heart with song and I raise them now in homage:

my father and I riding until after dark
chasing cattle or startling eagles into flight
cooking on a coal stove
cutting meat with a dull knife
my hands raw from picking rose hips
on the sea cliffs above Kackamack Bay
staring endlessly at the blue sky...

Few would guess now how much I miss
you Alaska

how my heart grows
heavy out here

so far away

So much talk
so much noise
strangling all stillness
so I can no longer
hear the voice of god whisper
to me in the silence

I will return to you, Alaska,
my beloved, but for now
I am youth’s soldier
chasing down
an endless dawn

Would You Know? Thomas Carew
Would you know what’s soft? I dare
Not bring you to the down, or air,
Nor to stars to show what ’s bright,
Nor to snow to teach you white;
Nor, if you would music hear,
Call the orbs to take your ear;
Nor, to please your sense, bring forth
Bruisëd nard, or what’s more worth;
Or on food were your thoughts placed,
Bring you nectar for a taste;
Would you have all these in one,
Name my mistress, and ’tis done!

Happy Birthday, James!

 

That Mr May, he had a lathe
And tied to it, he was a slave,
He laboured day and night until
His boyhood dream he did fulfil,
He built himself a rocketship
And launched upon a little trip.
The journey took him to the moon
But hopefully, he'll be back soon.
Packed full of lunar cheese, of course.
He's very partial to cheese sauce!

 

Late Leaves
Walter Savage Landor

The leaves are falling; so am I;
The few late flowers have moisture in the eye;
     So have I too.
Scarcely on any bough is heard
Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird
The whole wood through.

Winter may come: he brings but nigher
His circle, yearly narrowing, to the fire
     Where old friends meet.
Let him; now heaven is overcast,
And spring and summer both are past,
And all things sweet.