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DoodleScribbles

Scribblings and scrawls of a hopeless romantic soul

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Mouth+Piece

“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.


Sharing another favorite from Em who is celebrating her 190th birthday today. I promise when I get back to writing poetry, I’d write an homage to this awesome soul. 💛

Because I could not stop for Death by Emily Dickinson

Featured poems and spoken word poetry

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –


Who loves Emily just as I do? I know I keep repeating this but I just adore her, her dashes and her poems. This piece takes us on a poetic exploration of the cyclical nature of life and death.

Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


I have been feeling a lot of pressure at work with our new quota for writeups and I found courage and inspiration in this piece. I know it is Dylan’s message to his dying father but we all have different kinds of death, right? We must also remind ourselves to rage against everyday challenges, knocking depression and more.

Yesterday, I listened to an awesome reading of this poem on loop. Please give it a try here — I promise it will be worth your time. Kudos to the man for giving it so much emotion and force.

P. S. Who would have thought it was also Dylan’s birthday, on this day, in 1914. Coincidence or fate? 🤗

A Brave and Startling Truth by Maya Angelou

Featured poems and spoken word poetry

We, this people, on a small and lonely planet
Traveling through casual space
Past aloof stars, across the way of indifferent suns
To a destination where all signs tell us
It is possible and imperative that we learn
A brave and startling truth

And when we come to it
To the day of peacemaking
When we release our fingers
From fists of hostility
And allow the pure air to cool our palms

When we come to it
When the curtain falls on the minstrel show of hate
And faces sooted with scorn are scrubbed clean
When battlefields and coliseum
No longer rake our unique and particular sons and daughters
Up with the bruised and bloody grass
To lie in identical plots in foreign soil

When the rapacious storming of the churches
The screaming racket in the temples have ceased
When the pennants are waving gaily
When the banners of the world tremble
Stoutly in the good, clean breeze

When we come to it
When we let the rifles fall from our shoulders
And children dress their dolls in flags of truce
When land mines of death have been removed
And the aged can walk into evenings of peace
When religious ritual is not perfumed
By the incense of burning flesh
And childhood dreams are not kicked awake
By nightmares of abuse

When we come to it
Then we will confess that not the Pyramids
With their stones set in mysterious perfection
Nor the Gardens of Babylon
Hanging as eternal beauty
In our collective memory
Not the Grand Canyon
Kindled into delicious color
By Western sunsets

Nor the Danube, flowing its blue soul into Europe
Not the sacred peak of Mount Fuji
Stretching to the Rising Sun
Neither Father Amazon nor Mother Mississippi who, without favor,
Nurture all creatures in the depths and on the shores
These are not the only wonders of the world

When we come to it
We, this people, on this minuscule and kithless globe
Who reach daily for the bomb, the blade and the dagger
Yet who petition in the dark for tokens of peace
We, this people on this mote of matter
In whose mouths abide cankerous words
Which challenge our very existence
Yet out of those same mouths
Come songs of such exquisite sweetness
That the heart falters in its labor
And the body is quieted into awe

We, this people, on this small and drifting planet
Whose hands can strike with such abandon
That in a twinkling, life is sapped from the living
Yet those same hands can touch with such healing, irresistible tenderness
That the haughty neck is happy to bow
And the proud back is glad to bend
Out of such chaos, of such contradiction
We learn that we are neither devils nor divines

When we come to it
We, this people, on this wayward, floating body
Created on this earth, of this earth
Have the power to fashion for this earth
A climate where every man and every woman
Can live freely without sanctimonious piety
Without crippling fear

When we come to it
We must confess that we are the possible
We are the miraculous, the true wonder of this world
That is when, and only when
We come to it.


Starting the week with this powerful piece from none other than Maya Angelou. Have you personally uncovered a brave and startling truth in this lifetime — one that forever changed your life?

The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

Featured poems and spoken word poetry

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.


Sharing this beautifully penned piece from Wendell Berry that I have just learned about today. I fell instantly in love with this poem on first read. It’s simple yet deep, expressing in poetic lines how the natural world can quell our anxieties of the present and the future. This is something that we all can relate in these trying times. May we find our way back to the gardens, forests and mountains where inner peace reside.

The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski

Featured poems and spoken word poetry

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.


Had Charles Bukowski lived longer, he would be celebrating his 100th birthday today. This gem of a piece of is one of his simplest yet most powerful. In these trying times, it reminds us to push forward despite life’s inevitable hardships. 💛

I wandered lonely as a Cloud by William Wordsworth

Featured poems and spoken word poetry

I wandered lonely as a Cloud
   That floats on high o’er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
   A host of golden Daffodils;
Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
   And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
   Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
   Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:—
A Poet could not but be gay
   In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the shew to me had brought:

For oft when on my couch I lie
   In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
   Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.


Sharing another personal favorite from William Wordsworth. May this piece inspire our wandering and wondering souls. ❤

Pakigbisog by James Glendon

Featured poems and spoken word poetry

Gikapoy naka.
ayaw’g hunahunaa nga
kaya ra nimo tanang problema.
kay
di ka kusgan sa tanang panahon
ug sayop sila sa ilang giingong
dili ka masulub-on
kay ang tinuod
nag-inusara ra ka.
Ayaw isipa nga
kanimo adunay mutabang
kay
hakug  ang kalibutan.
Dili tinuod na
kini pagsulay lang
tuho-i na
magpabalin ang problema sa hangtud.
Undang na sa pagtoo nga
may igo kang katakos
hinumdumi nga
Ang kalampusan lisud makab-ot
sayop ang ideya nga
layo ka’g maabtan
kay ang tinuod
dinha ra ka kutob.
Hunong na sa pagtoo nga         
Makigbisog ka.

P.S. Now read the lines from the bottom to the top.


So, I’ve decided to continue this project of sharing poetry — written and spoken — that I believe deserve to be read, heard and felt. May this collection quench our thirst for inspiration and awaken our sleeping muse.

This piece is written by James Glendon, a Cebuano wanderer and wonderer who has a penchant for reverse poetry. The poem addresses anxiety and depression which are prevalent in today’s society. If only I could translate it to any language without jeopardizing its meaning and depth. Sigh.


Also, check out Home by Warsan Shire and The Prisoner of Chillon by Lord Byron for previous featured pieces. 😀

Home by Warsan Shire

Featured poems and spoken word poetry

no one leaves home unless
home is the mouth of a shark
you only run for the border
when you see the whole city running as well

your neighbors running faster than you
breath bloody in their throats
the boy you went to school with
who kissed you dizzy behind the old tin factory
is holding a gun bigger than his body
you only leave home
when home won’t let you stay.

no one leaves home unless home chases you
fire under feet
hot blood in your belly
it’s not something you ever thought of doing
until the blade burnt threats into
your neck
and even then you carried the anthem under
your breath
only tearing up your passport in an airport toilets
sobbing as each mouthful of paper
made it clear that you wouldn’t be going back.

Continue reading “Home by Warsan Shire”

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