let it go

let it go - the

smashed word broken

open vow or

the oath cracked length

wise - let it go it

was sworn to

go

let them go - the

truthful liars and

the false fair friends

and the boths and

neithers - you must let them go they

were born

to go

let all go - the

big small middling

tall bigger really

the biggest and all

things - let all go

dear

so comes love

~ e.e. cummings
photo by ansel adams

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dive for dreams

dive for dreams

or a slogan may topple you

(trees are their roots

and wind is wind)

trust your heart

if the seas catch fire

(and live by love

though the stars walk backward)

honour the past

but welcome the future

(and dance your death

away at the wedding)

never mind a world

with its villains or heroes

(for good likes girls

and tomorrow and the earth)

in spite of everything

which breathes and moves, since Doom

(with white longest hands

neating each crease)

will smooth entirely our minds

-before leaving my room

i turn, and (stooping

through the morning) kiss

this pillow, dear

where our heads lived and were.

silently if, out of not knowable

silently if, out of not knowable

night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess

(only which is this world)more my life does

not leap than with the mystery your smile

sings or if(spiralling as luminous

they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,

less into heaven certainly earth swims

than each my deeper death becomes your kiss

losing through you what seemed myself,i find

selves unimaginably mine;beyond

sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit's born:

yours is the darkness of my soul's return

-you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars

e. e. cummings

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silence

silence

is

a

looking

bird:the

turn

ing;edge,of

life

(inquiry before snow

e.e. cummings

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maggie and milly and molly and may

maggie and milly and molly and may 

went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang 

so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star

whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing 

which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone 

as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me) 

it's always ourselves we find in the sea

~ e. e. cummings

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supposing

supposing i dreamed this)

only imagine,when day has thrilled

you are a house around which

i am a wind-

your walls will not reckon how

strangely my life is curved

since the best he can do

is to peer through windows,unobserved

-listen,for(out of all

things)dream is noone's fool;

if this wind who i am prowls

carefully around this house of you

love being such,or such,

the normal corners of your heart

will never guess how much

my wonderful jealousy is dark

if light should flower:

or laughing sparkle from

the shut house(around and around

which a poor wind will roam

~ e.e. cummings

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you said is

you said Is

there anything which

is dead or alive more beautiful

than my body,to have in your fingers

(trembling ever so little)?

Looking into

your eyes Nothing,i said,except the

air of spring smelling of never and forever.

….and through the lattice which moved as

if a hand is touched by a

hand(which

moved as though

fingers touch a girl’s

breast,

lightly)

Do you believe in always,the wind

said to the rain

I am too busy with

my flowers to believe,the rain answered

e.e. cummings

from his Complete Poems (1904-1962)

with thanks to life love yoga

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cummings and chopin

~ art by e.e. cummings

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the little horse

.

.

the little horse is newlY

Born)he knows nothing,and feels

everything;all around whom is

perfectly a strange

ness Of sun

light and of fragrance and of

Singing)is ev

erywhere(a welcom

ing dream: is amazing)

a worlD.and in

this world lies:smoothbeautifuL

ly folded;a(breathing and a gro

Wing)silence, who:

is:somE

oNe

.

e.e. cummings

.

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i am a little church

.

.

i am a little church(no great cathedral)

far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities

-i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,

i am not sorry when sun and rain make april

.

my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;

my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving

(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children

whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness

.

around me surges a miracle of unceasing

birth and glory and death and resurrection:

over my sleeping self float flaming symbols

of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains

.

i am a little church(far from the frantic

world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature

-i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;

i am not sorry when silence becomes singing

.

winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to

merciful Him Whose only now is forever:

standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence

(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

.

~ e.e.cummings

.

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somewhere i have never traveled

.

.

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond

any experience,your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will enclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and

my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility:whose texture

compels me with the colour of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens;only something in me understands

the voice of you eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain,has such small hands

.

e. e. cummings

.

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my love is building a building

.

.

my love is building a building

around you,a frail slippery

house,a strong fragile house

(beginning at the singular beginning

.

of your smile)a skilful uncouth

prison,a precise clumsy

prison(building thatandthis into Thus,

Around the reckless magic of your mouth)

.

my love is building a magic,a discrete

tower of magic and(as i guess)

.

when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall

.

crumble the mouth-flower fleet

He'll not my tower, 

                                                     laborious, casual

.

where the surrounded smile

                                                 hangs

.

                                                                            breathless

.

e. e. cummings
art by Sandy Eastoak,  http://www.sandyeastoak.com/
.

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if strangers meet

.

if strangers meet

life begins-

not poor not rich

(only aware)

kind neither

nor cruel

(only complete)

i not not you

not possible;

only truthful

-truthfully,once

if strangers(who

deep our most are

selves)touch:

forever

.

(and so to dark)

.

~ e.e. cummings

.

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what time is it?

.

.

what time is it?it is by every star

a different time,and each most falsely true;

or so subhuman superminds declare

.

- nor all their times encompass me and you:

when are we never,but forever now

(hosts of eternity;not guests of seem)

believe me,dear,clocks have enough to do

.

without confusing timelessness and time.

.

Time cannot children,poets,lovers tell -

measure imagine,mystery,a kiss

- not through mankind would rather know than feel;

.

mistrusting utterly that timelessness

.

whose absence would make you whole life and my

(and infinite our)merely to undie

.

~e.e.  cummings

.

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silently if

silently if,out of not knowable

night's utmost nothing,wanders a little guess

(only which is this world)more my life does

not leap than with the mystery your smile

sings or if(spiralling as luminous

they climb oblivion)voices who are dreams,

less into heaven certainly earth swims

than each my deeper death becomes your kiss

losing through you what seemed myself,i find

selves unimaginably mine;beyond

sorrow's own joys and hoping's very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit's born:

yours is the darkness of my soul's return

- you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars

~ e.e. cummings

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