Words of Wisdom//Rumi

Sylvia Plath//Lorelei

It is no night to drown in:
A full  moon, river lapsing
Black beneath bland mirror-sheen,

The blue water-mists dropping
Scrim after scrim like fishnets
Though fishermen are sleeping,

The massive castle turrets
Doubling themselves in a glass
All stillness.  Yet these shapes float

Up toward me, troubling the face
of quiet.  From the nadir
They rise, their limbs ponderous

With richness, hair heavier
Than sculptured marble.  They sing
Of a world more full and clear

Than can be.  Sisters, your song
Bears a burden too weighty
For the whorled ear's listening

Here, in a well-steered country,
Under a balanced ruler
Deranged by harmony

Beyond the mundane order,
Your voices lay siege. You lodge
On the pitcheds reefs of nightmare,

Promising sure harborage;
By day, descant from borders
Of hebetube, from the ledge

Also of high windows. Worse
Even than your maddening
Song, your silence. At the source

Of your ice-hearted calling --
Drunkenness of the great depths.
O river, I see drfting

Deep in your flux of silver
Those great goddesses of peace.
Stone, stone, ferry me down there.

David McNew//Annular Eclipse

A composite of images as the eclipse passes through annularity and the sun changes color as it approaches sunset, May 20, 2012 in Grand Canyon National Park, Arizona. (David McNew/Getty Images)

Toru Yamanaka//Annular Eclipse

An annular solar eclipse is seen through the clouds in Kawasaki, surburban Tokyo, May 21, 2012. (Toru Yamanaka/AFP/GettyImages)

William Butler Yeats//The Cat And The Moon

The cat went here and there
And the moon spun round like a top,
And the nearest kin of the moon,
The creeping cat, looked up.
Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon,
For, wander and wail as he would,
The pure cold light in the sky
Troubled his animal blood.
Minnaloushe runs in the grass
Lifting his delicate feet.
Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance?
When two close kindred meet.
What better than call a dance?
Maybe the moon may learn,
Tired of that courtly fashion,
A new dance turn.
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
From moonlit place to place,
The sacred moon overhead
Has taken a new phase.
Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils
Will pass from change to change,
And that from round to crescent,
From crescent to round they range?
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.

LisaZaran//Dreams

It is later than late,
the simmered down darkness
of the jukebox hour.

The hour of drunkeness
and cigarettes,
The fools hour.

In my dreams,
I still smoke, cigarette after cigarette.
It's ok, I'm dreaming.
In dreams, smoking can't kill me.

It's warm outside.
I have every window open.
There's no such thing as danger,
only the dangerous face of beauty.

I am hanging at my window
like a houseplant.
I am smoking a cigarette.
I am having a drink.

The pale, blue moon is shining.
The savage stars appear.
Every fool that passes by
smiles up at me.

I dip ashes on them.

There is sweet music playing from somewhere.
A thready, salt-sweet tune I don't know
any of the words to.
There's a gentle breeze making
hopscotch with my hair.

This is the wet blanket air of midnight.
This is the incremental hour.
This is the plastic placemat of time
between reality and make-believe.
This is tabletop dream time.

This is that faint stain on your mattress,
the one you'll discover come morning,
and wonder how.
This is the monumental moment.
The essential: look at me now.
This is the hour.

Isn't it lovely? Wake up the stars!
Isn't it fabulous? Kiss the moon!
Where is the clock? The one that
always runs ahead. The one that
always tries to crush me with
its future.

WhiteNight//MaryOliver

All night
I float
in the shallow ponds
while the moon wanders
burning,
bone white,
among the milky stems.
Once
I saw her hand reach
to touch the muskrat's
small sleek head
and it was lovely, oh,
I don't want to argue anymore
about all the things
I thought I could not
live without! Soon
the muskrat will glide with another
into their castle
of weeds, morning
will rise from theeast
tangled and brazen
and before that
difficult
and beautiful
hurricane of light
I want to flow out
across the mother
of all waters,
I want to lose myself
on the black
and silky currents,
yawning,
gathering
the tall lilies
of sleep.