Wendell Berry Short Poems | Poetry

Famous Short Wendell Berry Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Wendell Berry. A collection of the all-time best Wendell Berry short poems

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Wendell Berry | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Wendell Berry

The Real Work

 It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.


by Wendell Berry

What We Need Is Here

 Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes.
Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear in the ancient faith: what we need is here.
And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye, clear.
What we need is here.


by Wendell Berry

For The Future

 Planting trees early in spring,
we make a place for birds to sing
in time to come.
How do we know? They are singing here now.
There is no other guarantee that singing will ever be.


by Wendell Berry

Like The Water

 Like the water
of a deep stream,
love is always too much.
We did not make it.
Though we drink till we burst, we cannot have it all, or want it all.
In its abundance it survives our thirst.
In the evening we come down to the shore to drink our fill, and sleep, while it flows through the regions of the dark.
It does not hold us, except we keep returning to its rich waters thirsty.
We enter, willing to die, into the commonwealth of its joy.


by Wendell Berry

Woods

 I part the out thrusting branches
and come in beneath
the blessed and the blessing trees.
Though I am silent there is singing around me.
Though I am dark there is vision around me.
Though I am heavy there is flight around me.


by Wendell Berry

The Lilies

 Amid the gray trunks of ancient trees we found
the gay woodland lilies nodding on their stems,
frail and fair, so delicately balanced the air
held or moved them as it stood or moved.
The ground that slept beneath us woke in them and made a music of the light, as it had waked and sung in fragile things unnumbered years, and left their kind no less symmetrical and fair for all that time.
Does my land have the health of this, where nothing falls but into life?


by Wendell Berry

A Meeting

 In a dream I meet
my dead friend.
He has, I know, gone long and far, and yet he is the same for the dead are changeless.
They grow no older.
It is I who have changed, grown strange to what I was.
Yet I, the changed one, ask: "How you been?" He grins and looks at me.
"I been eating peaches off some mighty fine trees.
"


by Wendell Berry

A Warning To My Readers

 Do not think me gentle
because I speak in praise
of gentleness, or elegant
because I honor the grace
that keeps this world.
I am a man crude as any, gross of speech, intolerant, stubborn, angry, full of fits and furies.
That I may have spoken well at times, is not natural.
A wonder is what it is.