Poetry I Love: Robert Frost "The Road Not Taken"

Robert Frost "The Road Not Taken"

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference

[TIME] from the never ending days

[TIME]
            slows
to a soft
       drip
like tipped

                                      m
                                        o
                                           l
                                            a
                                              s
                                                s
                                                 e
                                                   s

viscus
and
clinging

resistant to
any efforts at
speeding
up
time

Defeated,
Instead, now
I beat my head
against a wall
biding --
             Each jolt of pain a reminder              that ....

I'm still alive.

(still)
        (somehow)

(watch in wonder as the world rumbles)

Today finds me dreaming of summer nights and stargazing.


Petrichor: the pleasant smell that accompanies the first rain after a dry spell.

[From petro- (rock), from Greek petros (stone) + ichor (the fluid that is supposed to flow in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology). Coined by researchers I.J. Bear and R.G. Thomas.]

"Petrichor, the name for the smell of rain on dry ground, is from oils given off by vegetation, absorbed onto neighboring surfaces, and released into the air after a first rain." Matthew Bettelheim; Nature's Laboratory; Shasta Parent (Mt Shasta, California); Jan 2002.

"But, even in the other pieces, her prose breaks into passages of lyrical beauty that come as a sorely needed revivifying petrichor amid the pitiless glare of callousness and cruelty." Pradip Bhattacharya; Forest Interludes; Indianest.com; Jul 29, 2001.  

Deflection

He jokes about the struggle,

his self deprecating humor a transparent veil, 

attempting to cover the hurt behind the memory.  

Choice.

Love only hurts if you let it.  

I won't. 

Watch me walk away.  

I'm not sorry to leave you, and your venom, behind.  

Watch me walk away.  

I won't look back.

I won't give in.

I won't allow my world to dim. 

I won't waste my tears. 

I won't spend my years

rationalizing actions caused your fears.

I gave you my heart

and you threw it away

I'm picking it up,

and leaving today. 

GIS

my head spins
I struggle to grasp
the ideas I need

A bacteriophage (virus)

for these god. damn. maps.

the trouble is my sources
have become infected
(A virus slipped past
my strongest protection)

the data's corrupted
the files aren't where
I placed them last night,
with so. much. care.

So I've called up a friend
affectionately known
as my favorite nerd
who may have a code
that works magic to resurrect
files lost
to viral defects.




(School today was frustrating.)

strength

scream.  go ahead.
no one will hear you.
its all in your head,
so just. . .
let them kill you.

scream. go ahead.
no one will hear your.
its all in your head.
don't let them defeat you.

MINDSEYEONLYMINE

LIFELIFELIFELIFELIFE

it CUTS like a knife

[Today, with surgical precision.]

the choices we make

(chances we take)

shape the scars, which are placed

(early on, like roots) at the base

until we run out of days

(scars intricate in so many ways)

in time the shallow scars fade, 

but today

[today I placed this scar]

cutting out tissue knotted

with

(pastpastpastpastpastpast) whispers

with one,

clean, 

sharp, 

line

(barely a wrinkle)

I turn, scalpel in hand, 

and beckon the world. 

[Bring it.]

Happy Earth Day!

Happy Earth Day!  

It seems so very sad that we only have ONE day of the year to celebrate the Earth.  

Do something good for the Earth today, and every day after!  

Love, 

Klaire

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Journey

I am young, still.

At times I feel old, as if I have lived long enough to know all, as if I carry wisdom in the dust on my feet.

I am a fool.

I know some things of the world.  I have so much more to see, to learn.  I must remember that knowledge is not understanding, experience is not wisdom.  I have only just opened my eyes to the world, my life thus far only a glimpse -- and blurred as in the first moments of waking.  I have learned that the world will not hand over its secrets to me calmly.  I must fight, determined to make my way against the surge of those who bet against me.  Sometimes it is only a battle to stay afloat, in other moments I seem to speed ahead, leaping and diving forward into life head first.

Sometimes I find myself sinking.

Yet, I have been blessed enough to be loved.  Those who love me have come and pulled me back towards the surface countless times.  I must remind myself to remain calm, so I do not drown them in my panic, or force them to let me go.  This lesson has been hard to learn, and certainly not one I have mastered.

One thing I have learned: 

Trust is such a delicate creature.  In one foolish, panicked moment it be shattered, crushed, suffocated -- and it cannot be resurrected, there is no 'breath of life' or miracle technology that can heal those wounds.  If you are lucky, bits of trust might be found buried in love (as love cannot die, only languish), and from those remnants you can begin to rebuild.

I only hope that as I discover the world, I become less a fool, stepping carefully and remaining calm, so that I can pull those who are sinking up with me.

Maybe, some day, we'll fly.