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.
--Raymond Carver (1938-1988), American author and poet, from Poems of Gratitude (Everyman's Library Pocket Poets series), 2017
The Hubster dislikes
our Rose of Sharon trees—
he likens them to weeds.
Yet I am convinced
that it is always the “weeds”
who provide the most refuge
without asking anything in return.
In five minutes,
I watched six hummingbirds
zoom around the blossoms
as they jockeyed for a chance
at the waning late-summer blooms.
I watched cardinals
and Carolina wrens fight
over the ripening grape clusters
from the vine
that is supported by not one but two trees
along our fence—
trees that also give us privacy in our yard.
I watched butterflies—
humble little skippers,
but also hairstreaks, fritillaries,
swallowtails,
and oh my God, even a monarch,
once so ubiquitous
but now almost as surprising to see
as a Bengal tiger.
Even on my deck I could hear
the thrum of probably thirty bumble bees
hovering like tugboats from blossom to bloom,
staying aloft
only God knows how.
We owe our lives
to the “weeds” of this world,
to their humble welcome
and hospitality.
The least we can do is call them beautiful.
-- L. K. S.
Photo taken this morning of a bumblebee on a Rose of Sharon and then using the Angel filter on Prisma.
Ah, grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.
I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.
You think I don’t know you’ve been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your name,
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.
--Denise Levertov (1923-1997), Anglo-American poet, from Poems 1972-1982.
