Thursday, November 15, 2012

Singing In the Dark Meadow

"Horses at Midnight Without a Moon"

Our heart wanders lost in the dark woods.
Our dream wrestles in the castle of doubt.
But there's music in us. Hope is pushed down
but the angel flies up again taking us with her.
The summer mornings begin inch by inch
while we sleep, and walk with us later
as long-legged beauty through
the dirty streets. It is no surprise
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing.
We know the horses are there in the dark
meadow because we can smell them,
can hear them breathing.
Our spirit persists like a man struggling
through the frozen valley
who suddenly smells flowers
and realizes the snow is melting
out of sight on top of the mountain,
knows that spring has begun.        

~ Jack Gilbert  (February 18, 1925 - November 11, 2012)

For Jack's poem, "Forgotten Dialect of the Heart," my previous post:


  1. "But there's music in us." And how often do we turn down the volume until it is almost imperceptible?

    1. I love that line. Time to turn up the volume, methinks. :)

      Thanks, t.

  2. Now there's a man who speaks to the soul! :)

    1. I haven't read a poem by him I haven't liked, and very much. I'm sorry to hear of his passing. Thanks, Rita.