The ocean can do craziness, it can do smooth
it can lie down like silk breathing
or toss havoc shoreward; it can give
gifts or withhold all; it can rise, ebb, froth
like an incoming frenzy of fountains, or it can
sweet-talk entirely. As I can too,
and so, no doubt, can you, and you.
Or the poem Tides:
Every day the sea
blue gray green lavender
pulls away leaving the harbor’s
dark cobbled undercoat.
But that is apparently where our similarity ends, Mary’s and mine, because she can put into words those feelings whereas I can’t. I’m not a poetry lover, generally, but Susan and I were introduced to Mary Oliver via a Beth Kephart book and Susan became an avid fan. I like simple poetry, short poetry, poetry that conveys thoughts and feelings in a sparsity of words. Maybe that’s why I like Mary Oliver.
In A Thousand Mornings, she discusses age, life, joyfulness, sorrow, dissatisfaction such as In Traveling to Beautiful Places she says
…But it’s late for all of us,
in truth the only ship there is
is the ship we are all on
burning the world as we go.
Whatever it is about the way Mary Oliver expresses her thoughts and feelings, she seems, in many ways, to have captured mine, as well. See if Ms. Oliver captures your feelings.