49 Matching Annotations
  1. Nov 2017
    1. I hate to seem greedy—I have so much to be thankful for already.

      Thankfulness can be a declaration of privilege, of shouting to the heavens, "Look at me and what all I gots." Thankfulness could be like Raymond Carver says, just waiting for the glory of what happens next in a state of wonder. Agog.

    1. This grasshopper, I mean-

      Did he who made the swan and the bear make thee? All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful: The Lord God made them all.

    2. Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

      A "one-two" jab, right cross combination to the head. I am down for the count.

    3. what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life

      no poem

      written in the morning


      is enough to answer

      the kind of question

      destined to haunt me

      for days

    4. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

      She waits

      for the wind

      with patience

      and breath

      while I worry

      the wind

      will never arrive

    5. Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper?

      Reminds me of William Blake's "The Tyger"


    1. Sing, birds, in every furrow!

      I have seen this I have seen these spare birds Sparrows Feasting in a furrow of newly plowed ground then with utter seeming joy lift their heads and thrill and shrill.

    2. I love the repetition.

    3. and re-inspired by Dogtrax.

      Inspired-breathed in re-inspired-and again in

    4. Blackbird and thrush in every bush,

      the thump of this line delivers

    5. shrill

      I love what the OED brings to this poem.

      shrill, v.


      Also 4 schrille, 4–6 shrille, 5 shrelle, [skrille], 6–7 shril.

      [f. shrill a. Cf. G. schrillen.]

      1.1 intr. Of a voice, cry: To sound shrilly. Hence of noises, the wind, or the like, or a place echoing with sound.

         13‥ K. Alis. 777 Bulsifal neied so loude, That hit schrillith into the cloude!    1582 Stanyhurst Æneis ii. 35 The inner lodgins dyd shrille with clamorus howting.    1591 Spenser Virg. Gnat 518 Their mightie strokes so shrild, As the great clap of thunder.    1647 H. More Song of Soul ii. App. iii, Its tearing noise so terribly did shrill, That it the heavens did shake.    1782 Mickle Proph. Q. Emma iv, When the female scream ascended, Shrilling o'er the crowded lawn.    1811 Scott Don Roderick ii. xix, First shrill'd an unrepeated female shriek!    1842 Tennyson Morte d'Arthur 201 A wind, that shrills All night in a waste land.    1884 L. Wallace Ben-Hur iv. iv. 166 His voice shrilled with passion.

      2.2 To speak, cry, or sing with a shrill voice; to make a shrill noise. a.2.a Of persons or animals.

         [c 1400 Anturs of Arth. xlviii, Þene his lemmane one loft skrilles and skrikes.]    c 1440 Floriz & Bl. (MS. T) 756 Þe mayde, al for drede, Bygan to shrelle [earlier MSS. crie, schrichen] and to grede.    1595 Spenser Epithal. 82 The Ouzell shrills, the Ruddock warbles soft.    1598 Florio, Querulare‥to shril, to‥chirp.    1639 H. Ainsworth Annot. Ps. v. 12 To showt, shrill, or cry aloud for sorrow.    1837 Carlyle Fr. Rev. III. ii. vi. (1872) 81 The Tribune drones,‥the whole Hall shrilling up round it into pretty frequent wrath and provocation.    1896 A. Austin England's Darling i. ii, The misselthrush That shrilled so gleefully.

      b.2.b Of an instrument of music, whistle, etc.

         1579 Spenser Sheph. Cal. Nov. 71 Breake we our pypes, that shrild as lowde as Larke.    1590 ― F.Q. ii. iii. 20 A horne, that shrilled cleare Throughout the wood.    1710 Philips Pastorals iv. 56 Thro' all the Wood his Pipe is heard to shrill.    1842 Tennyson Sir Galahad 5 The shattering trumpet shrilleth high.    1879 E. Gosse New Poems 100 The first sharp snow is shrilling through the trees.    1903 Kipling Five Nations 114 The whistle shrills to the picket.

      3.3 trans. To utter, give forth (a sound, cry, words) in shrill tones; to exclaim or proclaim with a shrill voice. Also with out.

         1595 Spenser Epithal. 129 Harke, how the Minstrels gin to shrill aloud Their merry Musick.    1606 Shakes. Tr. & Cr. v. iii. 84 Harke‥How poore Andromache shrils her dolour forth.    1613 Heywood Silver Age iii. i, Through all th' Abysse, I haue shril'd thy daughters losse.    1613 ― Brazen Age ii. ii, What better can describe his shape and terror Then all the pittious clamours shrild through Greece?

         1801 Lusignan I. 173 The terror of the feathered tribe, shrilled in the omens of an approaching tempest.    1817 Coleridge Biog. Lit. xxi. (1882) 205 Gnats, beetles, wasps,‥may shrill their tiny pipes‥unchastised and unnoticed.    1837 Carlyle Fr. Rev. I. v. ii, ‘Messieurs’, shrills de Brézé.    1904 M. Hewlett Queen's Quair i. vii, Lethington likened her to Diana on Taygetus shrilling havoc.    1947 A. Ransome Great Northern? i. 16 Roger's voice shrilled out, ‘Sail HO!’    1975 New Yorker 16 June 97/3 It was a lapse on Miss Sills' part to shrill out a high E flat at the end of the first finale, but otherwise she was tender, touching, and sensitive.

      4.4 To render shrill. rare—1.

         1772 Foote Nabob Prol. Wks. 1799 II. 285 If age contracts my muscles, shrills my tone.

      5.5 To summon with a shrill sound. rare—1.

         1859 Masson Brit. Novelists iii. 204 The pibroch shrills them to the work they do.

    6. Wings from the wind to please her mind,

      wings...wind..her mind

    7. Sing my fair Love

      Yes, truly,


      let the songs

      be sung

      let your melody

      weave this with me

      into harmony

      yes, love, sing


    8. Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing,

      let your voice be heard

      even if only notations

      on the page,

      for out in the world

      there are the sounds

      of chaos,

      and your voice is the balance

      of clarity

      I long for

    9. With night we banish sorrow

      for within the stars

      there lies

      hope, falling

      into our atmosphere

    10. some annotation via #gratefulpoems inspired by Tellio

    1. need to note

      I am partial

      marks on

      this page

      Note the ways

      I've lingered under

      your eraser marks

      I am but shadows

      of my stories

      Poems where words

      may yet sleep.

    2. we open our baskets

      reach in


      find the things

      we no longer


    3. berries not by the work of our hands, berries not by the work of our fingers.


      what have you been given today?

      is your blood warmth breathing and pulsing?

      Is there a solid road under you?

      is there a dog adoring you?

      is there thick crusted bread?

      is there sense being made nearby?

      is there a garden feeding you?

      is your air, unmediated and pure?

      is your water cold and good?

      what have you been given?

      if that was taken,

      what would you still have?

      of that,

      what would you still need?

    4. I love how the writer bookends the observation: "I wonder what I am, that anyone should note me." with the end of the poem: "Here there are blueberries, there is no need to note me." Problem and solution. Call and response.

    5. bright clouds

      blueberry sky quince clouds bread thick with life meadow margins a blanket of "I am" in a meadow of "No need"

    6. wonder

      What we are given

      in this one sweet life

      is what we have already earned

      by virtue of being alive.

      Do not wonder at that.

      Do not sow.


    7. And for this, I did nothing, not even wonder.

      From Matthew 6:24–33 (King James Version "KJV"): No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon. Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment? Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they? Which of you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith? Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.

    1. the trees have their heads on the blue sky

      What do they

      think about

      when their leaves kiss the sun

      and fall to this earth

      one final time?

      Do they imagine

      the rebirth

      of another year?

    2. invisible wind

      I am here

      eyes closed

      feeling the way time


      but unable

      to write it

    3. The heart of the world lies open, leached and ticking with sunlight

      I am reminded of Tom Waits' "Heart of a Saturday Night", a song of gratitude. I want this sung at my funeral.



    4. Two ravens circle and twist.                 On the borders of heaven, the river flows clear a bit longer.


      Just magix.

      Ravens casting their familiar spell.

      The margins of heaven responding.

      The river clearing, the mind untroubled.

      Now and for a little longer.

    5.  some sway, some don’t sway.

      glad for the delightful ambiguity--the pines, the readers, the poet

    6. evening feed                                                                             into

      love the caesura here. the pause in phrasing aloud and the pause in print as well.

      I am grateful to know that matters to the poet. It matters to me.

    1. this God, this laughter of the morning


      Laughter is spoken.

      God speaks Through laughter.

      Those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make laugh.

    2. I am reminded of how grateful I am that she lived as long as she did before her suicide. I feel the same feelings toward David Foster Wallace and his Kenyon commencement address. Grateful...then sad, but mostly grateful and glad to be alive to read and share their genius.

    3. The Joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard,dies young.

      Every morning we can

      My wife and I

      on our front porch swing


      the news that stays news

      at the end of our eyes

      and ears

      and nose

      and tongue

      and finger tips.

      This is not capital

      of any kind,

      not interest

      or dividend earned

      or profit plowed back

      It is the ante

      we pay each other

      to play

      this infinite game.

    4. though often forget,to give thanks

      We are alive



      and to


      but not to

      the inscape of God

    5. young

      and we remember

      the joy of

      her laughter

    6. paint a thank-you on my palm

      She runs her fingers

      down the spine

      of my hand

      drawing a map

      of where I might go

      as opposed to

      where I have been

    7. All this is God

      for what is belief

      but the possibility

      of change, of hope

      of peace

      and whether your god

      arrives in some other's form

      does it really matter?

    8. the outcry from the kettle


      calls me

      to the kitchen

      my wife gone


      only for a


    9. There is joyin all


      fills this space

      forgotten thoughts



      these paper walls

      are full of

      cracks, in which we weave

      our way



    10. Tellio has us thinking of poetic gratitude, by annotating poems, and inviting others in. You are invited. In.

    1. music flared

      Music flares

      She cares

      too much

      of that one single note,

      shouted off key by

      the kid on the saxophone,

      while I reveled in

      the ambush of the off-kiltering


    2. You've seen the refugees going nowhere

      Where will they go ...

      these wandering


      of our conscience ...

      and who will hold them

      when the edge of the world


    3. Remember June's long days

      the way

      the rains


      a bluster

      of drops

      and then ...


      washed into

      summer's coming


    4. Try to praise

      You must

      You should


      the mutilated world

    5. the gentle light that strays and vanishes
    6. returns

    7. the gray feather a thrush lost

    8. nettles

      nettles and exiles, nettle because of exiles, mutilated lives, one rising from the other

    9. wild strawberries

      the tang of wild blackberries dancing that tango on my tongue.

    10. mutilated world.

      I am grateful for memory even though it incomplete, perhaps mutilited.