Thank You by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer It’s not as if the door can decide: Open. Closed. Locked. Unhinged. The door is ever at the mercy of the hand on the knob, the shoulder that smashes it, the wind that abruptly slams it shut, the smile that swings it wide as noon. Long ago, I learned every moment has a door, and that those doors never open themselves. That is why, standing here, I am astonished to see, through no effort of my own, a door swings open. And how sweet the surprise when I...

First forget what time it is for an hour do it regularly every day then forget what day of the week it is do this regularly for a week then forget what country you are in and practice doing it in company for a week then do them together for a week with as few breaks as possible follow these by forgetting how to add or to subtract it makes no difference you can change them around after a week both will help you later to forget how to count forget how to count starting with your own...

For What Binds Us by Jane Hirshfield There are names for what binds us: strong forces, weak forces. Look around, you can see them: the skin that forms in a half-empty cup, nails rusting into the places they join, joints dovetailed on their own weight. The way things stay so solidly wherever they've been set down— and gravity, scientists say, is weak. And see how the flesh grows back across a wound, with a great vehemence, more strong than the simple, untested surface before. There's a name...

copyright ©Alice Oswald 2016 It is the story of the falling rain to turn into a leaf and fall again it is the secret of a summer shower to steal the light and hide it in a flower and every flower a tiny tributary that from the ground flows green and momentary is one of water’s wishes and this tale hangs in a seed-head smaller than my thumbnail if only I a passerby could pass as clear as water through a plume of grass to find the sunlight hidden at the tip turning to seed a kind of...

Famous by Naomi Shihab Nye The river is famous to the fish The loud voice is famous to silence, which knew it would inherit the earth before anybody said so. The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds watching him from the birdhouse. The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek. The idea you carry close to your bosom is famous to your bosom. The boot is famous to the earth, more famous than the dress shoe, which is famous only to floors. The bent photograph is famous to the one...

One Feature (Hands) by Carol Shlyakhova  “My friend once told me she liked this guy because of his hands And I found it absurd that anyone would develop feelings over one feature, and not care about the rest It wasn’t until you used your hands to cup the back of my neck the first time we kissed and I could feel your firm grasp pull me closer, and my insides exploded and my head buzzed with bliss. And the first night you slept over, you fell asleep with your hand laid over my stomach and...

Giai đoạn Một B. dịch từ bản gốc tiếng anh Phase One viết bởi Dilruma Ahmed Khi em để cửa tủ lạnh mở đêm qua, tôi tha thứ cho em. Khi em khẩn khoản cầu xin những tấm màn trắng thay vì sống cuộc đời của em. Khi em gieo hạt cây con, nay đã nảy mầm trong những chiếc chậu bé tí xíu. Tôi tha thứ cho em. Khi em nói 'Không' rôi đổi thành 'Có' sau một chút nghĩ suy. Tôi tha thứ cho những viễn cảnh khủng khiếp em vẽ sau khi sinh con, vì quá nhiều đêm mất ngủ. Và khi bé con thức giấc liên tục,...

(Pieces from the interview of the Fresh Air show on December 29, 2011 by NPR were put together. H.) I'm not unhappy becoming old But it makes me cry when I see my friends go before me It's harder for us non-believers  But you know, something I'm finding out as I'm aging that I am in love with the world.  As right now looking out from my window from my studio, I see my trees my beautiful hundreds of years old trees. They're beautiful. I can take time to see how beautiful they are It is a...

If you've got an hour, Now's the time to share it. If you've got a flower, Wear it. This is just the day. If you've got a plan, Now's the time to try it. If you've got an airplane, Fly it. This is just the day. It's the day for seeing all there is to see. It's the day for being just you, just me. If you've got a smile, Now's the time to show it. If you've got a horn, Then blow it. It's the minute to begin it. This is just the day. --- This is Just the Day! If you don't feel like it,...

It's You I Like by Mr. Rogers It's you I like. It's not the things you wear It's the way you do your hair But it's you I like. The way you are right now The way down deep inside you Not the things that hide you Not your toys They are just beside you.  But it's you I like. Every part of you Your skin, your eyes, your feelings Whether old or new. I hope that you'll remember Even when you're feeling blue That it's you I like It's you yourself It's you - It's you I like.  H: Mừng ngày...

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live. The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on. We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it. It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women. At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers. Our dreams drink coffee...

Singularity  by Marie Howe - Điểm kì dị Do you sometimes want to wake up to the singularity we once were? so compact nobody needed a bed, or food or money — nobody hiding in the school bathroom or home alone pulling open the drawer where the pills are kept. For every atom belonging to me as good Belongs to you.   Remember? There was no   Nature.    No them.   No tests to determine if the elephant grieves her calf    or if the coral reef feels pain.    Trashed oceans don’t speak...

Trong giấc mơ em nằm nghiêng Cùng đàn sẻ tóc nâu Và em nghiêng chút nữa Bầu trời đi lộn đầu. Trong giấc mơ em thích buồn Vừa buồn lệ vừa dài Nỗi buồn em sẽ chảy Hai dòng dài rất dài. Trong giấc mơ em làm anh Một ông anh tay to Nắm một đàn em nhỏ Vừa nắm vừa than thở Ôi đàn em dại khờ Khuôn mặt đầy giấc mơ (Ngu si mà thấy ghét...) Bây giờ em vẫn nằm Vừa nằm em vừa mơ Em muốn nghiêng xuống nữa... Em thích mình đau khổ Đau khổ và nằm nghiêng Khi nằm nghiêng em thấy Đau khổ nhiều quá...

Poem of the One World BY MARY OLIVER This morning the beautiful white heron was floating along above the water and then into the sky of this the one world we all belong to where everything sooner or later is part of everything else which thought made me feel for a little while quite beautiful myself.

Whenever you’re called on to make up your mind And you’re hampered by not having any, The best way to solve the dilemma, you’ll find, Is simply by flipping a penny. No, not so that chance shall decide the affair While you’re passively standing there moping; But the moment the penny is up in the air You suddenly know what you’re hoping. --- this poem was written by a polymath for when we cannot decide. B.

ở Saigon 24, bởi Mai Hà https://maihabiham.wordpress.com/2017/03/24/o-saigon-24/ bài thơ này từng mang mình qua rất nhiều đoạn khó. H

Out of every hundred people those who always know better: fifty-two. Unsure of every step: almost all the rest. Ready to help, if it doesn't take long: forty-nine. Always good, because they cannot be otherwise: four—well, maybe five. Able to admire without envy: eighteen. Led to error by youth (which passes): sixty, plus or minus. Those not to be messed with: forty and four. Living in constant fear of someone or something: seventy-seven. Capable of happiness: twenty-some-odd at...

On the Train, a Man Snatches My Book, Reads by Paige Lewis On the train, a man snatches my book, reads the last line, and says I completely get you, you're not that complex. He could be right--lately all my what ifs are about breath: what if a glass-blower inhales at the wrong moment? What if I'm drifting on a sailboat and the wind stops? If he'd ask me how I'm feeling, I'd give him the long version--I feel as if I'm on the moon listening to the air hiss out of my spacesuit, and I can't...

I asked the professors who teach the meaning of life to tell      me what is happiness. And I went to famous executives who boss the work of      thousands of men. They all shook their heads and gave me a smile as though      I was trying to fool with them And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along      the Desplaines river And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with      their women and children and a keg of beer and an      accordion.

First Fig by Edna St. Vincent Millay My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends⎯ It gives a lovely light!