The Peace of Wild Things
BY WENDELL BERRY
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.

I've crawled off to die in a cowards shoe.
The culmination of my efforts.
A disheveled shape held together with glue.
What push do I have left?

When I've spent all I have.

My last quarter in the gum ball machine of life.
Looking around at all the others who've given up.
Is it my time? - considering the strife.

Uni projects really take it out of you...

I am the ******.
Singer of songs,
Dancer...
Softer than fluff of cotton...
Harder than dark earth
Roads beaten in the sun
By the bare feet of slaves...
Foam of teeth... breaking crash of laughter...
Red love of the blood of woman,
White love of the tumbling pickaninnies...
Lazy love of the banjo thrum...
Sweated and driven for the harvest-wage,
Loud laughter with hands like hams,
Fists toughened on the handles,
Smiling the slumber dreams of old jungles,
Crazy as the sun and dew and dripping, heaving life
     of the jungle,
Brooding and muttering with memories of shackles:
               I am the ******.
               Look at me.
               I am the ******.

thwarted,
by words spoken  
frustrated
from exhaustion
******
in penance
pained
by foolishness.
condemned
by a wild mouth
blaming others.

There is a trip one can take to a place called Apologetic.

At this destination regret is the norm,
Lamentations are fashionable,
and apologies in high demand.
In this place contemplation is all the rage,
Reflective thought is du jour,
and repentance is propagated.

I can attest, testify, or bear witness if you will,
That such a place exists!
I have been there countless of times!
I can certainly certify!

Or perhaps...
You have been there yourself already?
In which case you can corroborate what I say is true!

"How does this work?"
she asked with some agitation.
"I'm fond of so many,
following with expectation.
But eighty poets,
how do I keep up?
I've already filled
twice my tea cup.
Does it take all day?
Do I need to pray?
To get the energy to say,
'Heart it, love it,  
can't get enough of it.'
How will I ever find the time
To read even seventy nine?"