Rilke, Rumi, cummings, Mary Oliver . . .
So many poems are wonderful teishos.
I’ve been reading poetry to Carys, our four-year old, at bedtime lately.
Rediscovering poems I loved as a child.
Like this one by e.e. cummings:
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find at the sea