Sublime
An inspiration engine for ideas
like the man in Robert Frost’s poem, took the less travelled path, then continued up, half running, half walking, towards the brow of the hill, thinking how Frost’s poem had been misconstrued as an argument for taking less obvious choices in life, when in fact it had simply been meant as a joke about an indecisive friend. I had read somewhere that
... See moreMiranda France • The Writing School
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night... See more
Jeffrey McDaniel • The Quiet World by Jeffrey McDaniel | Poetry Foundation
We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.
T.S. Eliot • The Essential T.S. Eliot
If one looks closely at “The Road Not Taken,” one discovers the many ambiguities written there about choice. The “two roads” are, after all, not that very different. “Both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black,” he writes. The signs were vague, indistinct. How to choose? What Frost makes clear in his poem is that the act of c
... See moreStephen Cope • The Great Work of Your Life: A Guide for the Journey to Your True Calling
"Lost" [by David Wagoner]
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees
... See moreThe worst of all things is not to live in a physical world - Wallace Steven
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
Maud Muller, by John Greenleaf Whittier
As Frost brought forth more and more of what was within him, he felt increasingly split. Was he a farmer? A teacher? A poet? He felt a crossroads coming.