Poetry in mind

Samara wrote a post about memorizing poems. What a nice reminder of something I've wanted to do and *sigh* have not, yet.

The last words I committed to memory came from the scripture verse Philippians 4:8

Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.

So last night I pulled down a couple of poetry books. A collection by Roger Housden and 'Unscrambled Eggs' by Nadia Brown. I remember buying her book awhile ago after reading an interview on All Things Girl. I like the themes her poems are based on - life experiences, everyday issues, along with finding purpose and living your dreams. I also like Naomi Shihab Nye's poetry.

I'm not sure what poem I will start to memorize, except something relatively short. Any suggestions? In the meantime, I am pondering this one by Rumi that I read last night.


UNFOLD YOUR OWN MYTH by Rumi

Who gets up early to discover the moment light begins?
Who finds us here circling, bewildered, like atoms?
Who comes to a spring thirsty
and sees the moon reflected in it?
Who, like Jacob, blind with grief and age,
smells the shirt of his son and can see again?
Who lets a bucket down
and brings up a flowing prophet?
Or like Moses goes for fire
and finds what burns inside the sunrise?

Jesus slips into a house to escape enemies,
and opens a door to the other world.
Solomon cuts open a fish, and there's a gold ring.
Omar storms in to kill the prophet
and leaves with blessings.
Chase a deer and end up everywhere!
An oyster opens his mouth to swallow one drop.
Now there's a pearl.

A vagrant wanders empty ruins
Suddenly he's wealthy.

But don't be satisfied with stories,
how things have gone with others.
Unfold your own myth,
without complicated explanation,
so everyone will understand the passage,
We have opened you. . . .

Start walking toward Shams.
Your legs will get heavy
and tired. Then comes a moment
of feeling the wings you’ve grown,
lifting.

from The Essential Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks