boryrory - a small shrub.
a small shrub.

I cry a lot.

179 posts

"What Can Anyone Give You Greater Than Now" William Stafford

You, Reading This, Be Ready by William Stafford

Starting here, what do you want to remember?
How sunlight creeps along a shining floor?
What scent of old wood hovers, what softened
sound from outside fills the air?

Will you ever bring a better gift for the world
than the breathing respect that you carry
wherever you go right now? Are you waiting
for time to show you some better thoughts?

When you turn around, starting here, lift this
new glimpse that you found; carry into evening
all that you want from this day. This interval you spent
reading or hearing this, keep it for life—

What can anyone give you greater than now,
starting here, right in this room, when you turn around?

"What can anyone give you greater than now" William Stafford

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More Posts from Boryrory

2 years ago

The point is to laugh into a kiss, to laugh at yourself, to laugh w the world but not at it, to share your dreams w people who listen to them, to realize when you’re wrong, to apologize even if it’s years later, to eat the bread that comes w dinner, to dive into the sea even when the water is cold, to forgive yourself but not be blind to your self, to remember your friends birthdays, to look for luck everywhere, to be sentimental and unashamed of it, to admit when you don’t know, to hold a shell to your ear and listen for the ocean, to hold your own hand and not shy away from someone else’s, to stop and smell the roses and the night blooming jasmine and the freesia, to live outside your head, to know how to cook for when you’re joyous and heartbroken and ravenous and lazy, to not crush the spider but help it outside, to always rediscover who you are and allow room for others to do the same, to watch the sunrise, to keep flowers in your house, to not let hopelessness poison you

2 years ago
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2 years ago
Here, the world is perpetual March, / and we love a dog as if that’s the only thing we can do, as if // death cannot touch this slice of New England, the trees / growing a canopy of shade just for us. // Yesterday, we strapped the smallest life jacket / to her furry body, took her swimming for the first time. // We watched her paddle from the shore to the center of the lake, / then back again until she grew tired. And last night // while we argued about things that won’t / matter in a month, he was still petting the puppy’s wet head, // and I cried like I’d never known a kindness / so pure and gentle as that, as a pat on the head // for doing nothing but existing. I wouldn’t / call this jealousy, but there is no word // in my human tongue that seems appropriate. / It’s the feeling of all the stones I swallowed in my youth // growing  jagged in my belly. And I scratch / the surface of my skin with any sharp thing // I can find to cut them out.

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2 years ago

Nighttime Begins with a Line by Pablo Neruda

by Yusef Komunyakaa

So my body went on growing, by night, went on pleading & singing to the earth I was born to be woven back into: Love, let me see if I can’t sink my roots deeper into you, your minerals & water, your leaf-rot & gold, telling & un- telling of the oldest tales inscribed on wind-carved rocks, silt & grass, your song & prayers, your oaths & myths, your nights & days in one unending lament, your luminous swarm of wet kisses & stings, your spleen and mind, your outrageous forgetting & remembrance, your ghosts & rebirths, your thunder stones & mushrooms, & your kind loss of memory.

2 years ago
Whatever Was Left, That Was Ours For A While.
Whatever Was Left, That Was Ours For A While.
Whatever Was Left, That Was Ours For A While.
Whatever Was Left, That Was Ours For A While.
Whatever Was Left, That Was Ours For A While.
Whatever Was Left, That Was Ours For A While.

whatever was left, that was ours for a while.

sunrise - louise glück