Poems can be a doorway into another world. Each one, a simple arrangement of otherwise ordinary words, that together evoke presence, wonder, possibility. So here is an invitation to pause, let the words wash over you and glimpse the world they offer you…
It’s a growing collection, and we’d love to hear which ones resonate with you and why, and find out about your favourites. Here is an index of our Words of Wonder.
It’s not just the people who live in the city who’ve lost the thread that ties them to the woven world of stones and earth, fields alive with pollen and wings. Who among us understands how oceans rise and fall, currents swirling around the planet with messages in bottles floating on the water. When the…
You and I have spoken all these words, but as for the way we have to go, words are no preparation. There is no getting ready, other than grace…. Inside each of us, there’s continual autumn. Our leaves fall and are blown out over the water. A crow sits in the blackened limbs and talks…
Wonder, Who has the magic to make the sun appear every morning? Who makes that bird on the elegant tree chirp? Breath, pulse, music, dew, sunset, the burning ambers of the fall. There is unfathomable joy in all that. Life is a stream. It flows on its own. No one knows why we are…
It’s like the scent of rain after a month of drought, the way it rises up and fills the lungs, quiets the body and gentles the mind – that’s what it’s like when, after grasping and spinning and reaching and clenching at last, exhausted with my own fear, I lay my hand on my own…
No, today probably won’t be a great day, but it absolutely won’t be a bad day either. Today will simply be a day. Twenty-four hours of a little bit of everything. Some moments will be hard, some will be joyous, some will be peaceful and some will be draining. And you, you will handle it…
Ah, not to be cut off, not through the slightest partition shut out from the law of the stars. The inner – what is it? if not the intensified sky, hurled through with birds and deep with the winds of homecoming. by Rainer Maria Rilke As with most of Austrian Rainer Maria Rilke’s writings,…
Sometime between mindlessly loading the dishwasher and wiping the crumb-covered countertops, I make my way back— to the hickory floor beneath tired feet, to the smell of sautéing garlic and onions, to the soothing sound of end-of-summer showers. Another season, another day, slowing slipping away. I close my eyes and listen to the song that…
Come new to this day. Remove the rigid overcoat of experience, the notion of knowing, the beliefs that cloud your vision. Leave behind the stories of your life. Spit out the sour taste of unmet expectation. Let the stale scent of what-ifs waft back into the swamp of your useless fears. Arrive curious, without the…
Mrs. Nelson explained how to stand still and listen to the wind, how to find meaning in pumping gas, how peeling potatoes can be a form of prayer. She took questions on how not to feel lost in the dark After lunch she distributed worksheets that covered ways to remember your grandfather’s voice. Then the…
What is this meditation, then? Pure fascination with this moment, exactly as it is. Allowing everything to be. Drenching one’s present experience in curiosity. Not adding anything. Not taking anything away. No goal. No seeking. No agenda. No special state to attain. No special experience to have. Pure wonder. The extraordinary ordinariness of what is.…
My wish for you is a homecoming in this life. A coming in out of the cold; a drying off the icy rain’s touch. In the holy reliquary of childhood memory may you find there the unshakable truth of your preciousness. May you remember the cool and padded graces of your wet feet against stone.…
In the place that is my own place, whose earth I am shaped in and must bear, there is an old tree growing, a great sycamore that is a wondrous healer of itself. Fences have been tied to it, nails driven into it, hacks and whittles cut in it, the lightning has burned it. There…
Sunrise at the octagonal hut; beyond, where two decks meet, a lizard does pushups in the sun. I see the green, chattering world through the window, I see my image in the window. Both are present; are both true? A bee enters the hut, buzzes insistently against the window, but the window won’t yield to…
Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop. Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control. Open the door, then close it behind you. Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean. Give it back with gratitude. If you sing…
And sometimes when I move at the edge of a greatness— a lake or a sea or a mountainside— my insignificance thrills me and the largest of my sadnesses dwindle smaller than the space between grains of sand and in that moment, knowing my place, comes a love so enormous I can love anyone, anyone,…
I carry your face in a mobile shrine and I take it out on the Underground. Your digital eyes look into mine. I change at Farringdon and I have changed. Touched by you, my skin is kozo tissue, my hair rose perfumed ink, My eyelids are gold leaf. The woman on my right, reflected in…
If death is inevitable, if it is a sure thing that this face, these hands, this body that holds a lifetime of this living, will, someday, no longer be here, if you don’t get to take a single thing with you — then — why spend a moment more refusing, worrying about who might disapprove,…
I asked my mother where she kept her love and she answered: My love is a golden bird in a crystal cage and that cage is perched on the head of a fat boa coiled at the top of a tree and that tree is surrounded by scorpions and tigers and bears. So I went…
What we want: Moments Of lucidity Or better yet: of crystal clarity Rare are those moments And thoroughly hidden Searching hardly Pays off, but Finding does The art is to live So that it comes to pass That clarity, now and then by Martin Bril translated from Dutch by Kristine This poem, by the Dutch writer and…
Me: Hey God. God: Hey John. Me: I’m about to break. God: Why do you think that is? Me: Because life just keeps getting harder. God: Then you need to become softer. Me: Huh? God: Here is the thing: glass is hard but it can shatter easily when dropped rock is hard but it can…
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there. And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of. It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and…
You don’t have to act crazy anymore— We all know you were good at that, Now retire, my dear, From all that hard work you do Of bringing pain to your sweet eyes and heart. Look in a clear mountain mirror See the beautiful ancient warrior And the divine elements You always carry inside That…
And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth. by Raymond Carver This was the last poem in Raymond Carver’s last book, written while he was dying of cancer. It is also the…
She let go. She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go. She let go of the fear. She let go of the judgments. She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head. She let go of the committee of indecision within her. She let go of all the…
Oh do you have time to linger for just a little while out of your busy and very important day for the goldfinches that have gathered in a field of thistles for a musical battle, to see who can sing the highest note, or the lowest, or the most expressive of mirth, or the most…
Give up the fight For some other moment Some other life Than here, and now Give up the longing for some other world The wishing for other choices to make other songs to sing other bodies, other ages, other countries, other stakes Purge the past; forgive the future – for each come too soon. Surrender…
There is such beauty In the way that the grass Gracefully accepts the snow And the snow gracefully accepts The soft landing place of The grass They are entirely at ease With each other’s presence Outside the world Of weather warnings and Closed bridges There is a grace right here Right now each flake Whirling…
My friend and I snickered the first time we heard the meditation teacher, a grown man, call himself honey, with a hand placed over his heart to illustrate how we too might become more gentle with ourselves and our runaway minds. It’s been years since we sat with legs twisted on cushions, holding back our…
Everything is beautiful and I am so sad. This is how the heart makes a duet of wonder and grief. The light spraying through the lace of the fern is as delicate as the fibers of memory forming their web around the knot in my throat. The breeze makes the birds move from branch to…
And if it’s true we are alone, we are alone together, the way blades of grass are alone, but exist as a field. Sometimes I feel it, the green fuse that ignites us, the wild thrum that unites us, an inner hum that reminds us of our shared humanity. Just as thirty-five trillion red blood…