And I Rejoiced In Being What I

Long Live The Weeds That Overwhelm My Narrow Vegetable Realm! The Bitter Rock, The Barren Soil That Force The Son Of Man To Toil; All Things Unholy, Marred By Curse, The Ugly Of The Universe.

The Soul Has Many Motions, Body One.

I Wake To Sleep, And Take My Waking Slow. I Feel My Fate In What I Cannot Fear. I Learn By Going Where I Have To Go.

What's Madness But Nobility Of Soul At Odds With Circumstance? The Day's On Fire! I Know The Purity Of Pure Despair, My Shadow Pinned Against A Sweating Wall, That Place Among The Rocks--is It A Cave, Or Winding Path? The Edge Is What I Have........ ....... Dark,dark My Light, And Darker My Desire. My Soul, Like Some Heat-maddened Summer Fly, Keeps Buzzing At The Sill. ~from "the Waking" By Theodore Roethke

All Finite Things Reveal Infinitude: The Mountain With Its Singular Bright Shade Like The Blue Shine On Freshly Frozen Snow, The After-light Upon Ice-burdened Pines; Odor Of Basswood Upon A Mountain Slope, A Scene Beloved Of Bees; Silence Of Water Above A Sunken Tree: The Pure Serene Of Memory Of One Man,- A Ripple Widening From A Single Stone Winding Around The Waters Of The World.