tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17452407.post-62513781909460231342008-04-29T11:49:00.000-07:002008-12-09T10:33:04.980-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QzB1zNihHIY/SBduCGlXnsI/AAAAAAAAAHs/ln4A3X2NvCY/s1600-h/IMG_0203.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QzB1zNihHIY/SBduCGlXnsI/AAAAAAAAAHs/ln4A3X2NvCY/s200/IMG_0203.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194741677601300162" border="0" /></a> Ukiah Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day April 30, 2008 All the True Vows David Whyte<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> All the true vows are secret vows the ones we speak out loud are the ones we break. There is only one life you can call your own and a thousand others you can call by any name you want. Hold to the truth you make every day with your own body, don't turn your face away. Hold to your own truth at the center of the image you were born with. Those who do not understand their destiny will never understand the friends they have made nor the work they have chosen nor the one life that waits beyond all the others. By the lake in the wood in the shadows you can whisper that truth to the quiet reflection you see in the water. Whatever you hear from the water, remember, it wants you to carry the sound of its truth on your lips. Remember, in this place no one can hear you and out of the silence you can make a promise it will kill you to break, that way you'll find what is real and what is not.  <o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> I know what I am saying. Time almost forsook me and I looked again. Seeing my reflection I broke a promise and spoke for the first time after all these years in my own voice, before it was too late to turn my face again.<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day April 29, 2008 <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> Katha Pollit<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> <o:p> </o:p> SMALL COMFORT<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> Coffee and cigarettes in a clean café,<o:p></o:p> forsythia lit like a damp match against<o:p></o:p> a thundery sky drunk on its own ozone,<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> the laundry cool and crisp and folded away<o:p></o:p> again in the lavender closet --- too late to find<o:p></o:p> comfort enough in such small daily moments<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> of beauty, renewal, calm, too late to imagine<o:p></o:p> people would rather be happy than suffering<o:p></o:p> and inflicting suffering. We’re near the end,<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> but oh, before the end, as the sparrows wing<o:p></o:p> each night to their secret nests in the elm’s green dome,<o:p></o:p> oh, let the last bus bring<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> lover to lover, let the starveling<o:p></o:p> dog turn the corner and lope suddenly,<o:p></o:p> miraculously, down its own street, home.<o:p></o:p> <o:p> </o:p> </div> S<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17452407-6251378190946023134?l=mendocinocountylibrary.blogspot.com'/></div>Staff of the Mendocino County Libraryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04659535804429631684noreply@blogger.com