{"id":13,"date":"2020-09-24T11:36:00","date_gmt":"2020-09-24T11:36:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2020\/09\/24\/a-poem-for-thursday-99\/"},"modified":"2020-10-26T20:29:28","modified_gmt":"2020-10-26T20:29:28","slug":"a-poem-for-thursday-99","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2020\/09\/24\/a-poem-for-thursday-99\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #99"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n\n
<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n
Photo by\u00a0<\/span>Andr\u00e9s G\u00f3mez<\/a>\u00a0on\u00a0<\/span>Unsplash<\/a><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n

E. E. Cummings’ poetry is interesting. You read it and it doesn’t seem to make sense but then again, maybe it does. So you read it again and then again. Somehow there is a core of sense that slips in and out of your grasp. The words flow over you and eventually, you just let them. Some inner ear knows what it is hearing even if your mind doesn’t immediately understand.<\/p>\n

You are tired,<\/i><\/p>\n

(I think)<\/i><\/p>\n

Of the always puzzle of living and doing;<\/i><\/p>\n

And so am I.<\/i><\/p>\n


\n<\/i>Come with me, then,<\/i><\/p>\n

And we’ll leave it far and far away–<\/i><\/p>\n

(Only you and I, understand!)<\/i><\/p>\n


\n<\/i>You have played,<\/i><\/p>\n

(I think)<\/i><\/p>\n

And broke the toys you were fondest of,<\/i><\/p>\n

And are a little tired now;<\/i><\/p>\n

Tired of things that break, and–<\/i><\/p>\n

Just tired.<\/i><\/p>\n

So am I.<\/i><\/p>\n


\n<\/i>But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,<\/i><\/p>\n

And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of<\/i><\/p>\n

your heart–<\/i><\/p>\n

Open to me!<\/i><\/p>\n

For I will show you the places Nobody knows,<\/i><\/p>\n

And, if you like,<\/i><\/p>\n

The perfect places of Sleep.<\/i><\/p>\n


\n<\/i>Ah, come with me!<\/i><\/p>\n

I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,<\/i><\/p>\n

That floats forever and a day<\/i><\/p>\n

I’ll sing you the jacinth song<\/i><\/p>\n

Of the probable stars;<\/i><\/p>\n

I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,<\/i><\/p>\n

Until I find the Only Flower,<\/i><\/p>\n

which shall keep (I think) your little heart<\/i><\/p>\n

While the moon comes out of the sea.\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n


\n<\/i>You are Tired (I think)<\/i><\/p>\n

E. E. Cummings<\/i>
\n<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Photo by\u00a0Andr\u00e9s G\u00f3mez\u00a0on\u00a0Unsplash E. E. Cummings’ poetry is interesting. You read it and it doesn’t seem to make sense but then again, maybe it does. So you read it again and then again. Somehow there is a core of sense that slips in and out of your grasp. The words flow over you and eventually, you just let them. Some inner ear knows what it is hearing even if your mind doesn’t immediately understand. You are tired, (I think) Of the always puzzle of living and doing; And so am I. Come with me, then, And we’ll leave it far and far away– (Only you and I, understand!) You have played, (I think) And broke the toys you were fondest of, And are a little tired now; Tired of things that break, and– Just tired. So am I. But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight, And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart– Open to me! For I will show you the places Nobody knows, And, if you like, The perfect places of Sleep. Ah, come with me! I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon, That floats forever and a day I’ll sing you the jacinth song Of the probable stars; I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream, Until I find the Only Flower, which shall keep (I think) your little heart While the moon comes out of the sea.\u00a0 You are Tired (I think) E. E. Cummings<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1955,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2464,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13\/revisions\/2464"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1955"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}