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.
On the day when The weight deadens On your shoulders And you stumble, May the clay dance To balance you. And when your eyes Freeze behind The grey window And the ghost of loss Gets in to you, May a flock of colours, Indigo, red, green, And azure blue, Come to awaken in you A…
I have been trying to read the script cut in these hills— a language carved in the shimmer of stubble and the solid lines of soil, spoken in the thud of apples falling and the rasp of corn stalks finally bare. The pheasants shout it with a rusty creak as they gather in the fallen…
A sly gift it is, that on the year’s shortest day, the sun stays longest in this house– extends the wand of its slow slant and distant squint farthest into the long depths of our wintry rooms–to touch with tremulous light, interior places it has not lit before. by Robyn Sarah As we are…
I am the black lace tree Fashioned to the shifting swathe of sky Lifting your eyes to beauty I am the steadfast girth Of the wide gnarled trunk Urging your body to lean I am the swooping blackbird Thrilled by the cool freeing air Calling your heart to joy I am the determined dog Nose…
I awoke this morning in the gold light turning this way and that thinking for a moment it was one day like any other. But the veil had gone from my darkened heart and I thought it must have been the quiet candlelight that filled my room, it must have been the first easy rhythm…
Stop whatever it is you’re doing.Come down from the attic.Grab a bucket or a basket and head for light.That’s where the best poems grow, and in the dappled dark. Go slow. Watch out for thorns and bears.When you find a good bush, bowto it, or take off your shoes. Pluck. This poem. That poem. Any…
(at St. Mary’s) may the tide that is entering even now the lip of our understanding carry you out beyond the face of fear may you kiss the wind then turn from it certain that it will love your back may you open your eyes to water water waving forever and may you in your…
the way even the late-blooming aster succumbs to the power of frost— this is not a new story. Still, on this morning, the hollowness of the season startles, filling the rooms of your house, filling the world with impossible light, improbable hope. And so, what else can you do but let yourself be broken and…
It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing. It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for…