Poems

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room;And hermits are contented with their cells;And students with their pensive citadels;Maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom,Sit blithe and happy; bees that soar for bloom,High as the highest Peak of Furness-fells,Will murmur by the hour in foxglove bells:In truth the prison, unto which we doomOurselves, no prison is: and hence for … [Read more...] about Nuns Fret Not At Their Convent’s Narrow Room, By: William Wordsworth

I could stay lost in some other country,where nobody could find me.I could stay lost in the forests of time,listening as acorns droppedfrom trees with the leaves during fall.I would listen quietly to the birds singing.They would wonder why I invaded their privacy.I could drift like the snow,out of control, piling upfinally melting into astream of water,blending in with the … [Read more...] about I Could Stay Lost, By: Mary Bone

The floods are roused, and will not soon be weary;Down from the Pennine Alps how fiercely sweepsCroglin, the stately Eden's tributary!He raves, or through some moody passage creepsPlotting new mischief, out again he leapsInto broad light, and sends, through regions airy,That voice which soothed the Nuns while on the steepsThey knelt in prayer, or sang to blissful Mary.That … [Read more...] about Nunnery, By: William Wordsworth

The thyroid resides withinthe throat chakra, to help usspeak our truth. My mothercould not speak her truth,she could only yell criticismat me, and I could not speakat all. The lump in my throatbecame a part of me.At eighteen, nurses placedsandbags on my shouldersas a scanner revealedmy thyroid was inflamed.Years later, the lumpin my mother’s throatturned out to be cancer.The … [Read more...] about My Mother’s Thyroid, By: Diane Elayne Dees

The cattle crowding round this beverage clearTo slake their thirst, with reckless hoofs have trodThe encircling turf into a barren clod;Through which the waters creep, then disappear,Born to be lost in Derwent flowing near;Yet, o'er the brink, and round the limestone cellOf the pure spring (they call it the "Nun's Well,"Name that first struck by chance my startled ear)A tender … [Read more...] about Nun’s Well, Brigham, By: William Wordsworth