I recently saw these two poems which inspired me.

First is a summer reflection for those in the So. Hemisphere:

i thank you God for most this amazing by E. E. Cummings

i thank You God for most this amazing day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth day of life and love and wings:and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any-lifted from the no of all nothing-human merely being doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)


And for those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, here is a poem written by Barbara Crooker.  She has a webpage whereupon she shares a poem each month.  This is her reflection for February:

CATALOG   by Barbara Crooker
It’s February, and we’re freezing, despite global climate change,despite the melting ice caps. It seems that winter comes later now, that the seasons are askew. But here, in the pages of my L. L. Bean Catalog, a fire is blazing brightly, natural resin fatwood sticks bringing it to life, and a mallard blue hearth rug protects my floors. Warmth is guaranteed, no matter what the winter brings: a blizzard of bad news from the television, the icy rain of losses–age chipping away at the body, a flurry of Christmas cards where sorrow tipped the scale away from joy. The radio hisses its static: another car bomb explodes in Iraq like the rat-tat-tat of sleet; predictable as a cold front marching down from Canada. But in these glossy pages, we are told that when you select your outerwear, you should consider your personal response to cold, your activity levels, local weather conditions. Locally, I’d say the weather is conservative, with a touch of paranoia. Our ears, whether covered by a Mountain Guide Hat in Moss Khaki or a Stone Blue Fleece Headband, seem closed to the larger world, deaf to the voices of want and need. We give what we can, but not so much it hurts. Somewhere in the city, a man sleeps in a cardboard box. A woman and a child huddle under a blanket on a subway grate. We pass by quickly, wrapped in goose down and Gore-Tex. The wind keeps on blowing, as it always will.