The Interconnectedness of All Things (A poem!) (1 Viewer)

[Laron]

This poem was written by Emerson as the epigraph for the 1849 edition of his essay on Nature, which asserts the interconnectedness of all things.

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A subtle chain of countless rings
The next unto the farthest brings;
The eye reads omens where it goes,
And speaks all languages the rose;
And, striving to be man, the worm
Mounts through all the spires of form.

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

For those not familiar with him, he was an American essayist, lecturer, and poet who led the transcendentalist movement of the mid-19th century. He was known as a champion of individualism and a prescient critic of the countervailing pressures of society. He disseminated his thoughts through dozens of published essays and more than 1,500 public lectures across the United States.

Emerson in 1857​

 

[Snowmelt]

And, striving to be man, the worm
Mounts through all the spires of form

These two lines from the great man remind me of one of my poems from 1990's:

Seed to Staircase

The planet embodies all,
Deep in its soil
Are the roots and seeds
Of all things.

The seed in its casing
Remembers the sunlight
And the sprout emerges.

The sprout curls
From its handsome shape
Into a young tree
Straight and tall.

In the garden grow
Plants of variety.
In the city grows society.

One branches like the other,
Spreading like the other
Shelter for beings.

Under a wooden staircase
Sleeps a man.
The spirit of the tree
Hovers near its fallen home.

The staircase reaches
Through the dark
Towards some candlelight.
Perhaps the tree knew.

Men walk upon it,
Minds on other parts
And fail to notice
The light.

 

[Laron]

I love it HM! I took the liberty to reform it a bit as I learnt a lot about poetry back in 2014 and I think it now flows a bit better in this new version. I also did a few changes. Poetry can take months, if not longer, to perfect, so this was just something very quick.


The planet embodies all.
Deep in its soil are the roots of all things.

The seed in its casing remembers the sunlight.
The sprout emerges —
it curls from its handsome shape into a young tree —
straight and tall.

In the garden grow plants of variety
and in the city grows society.
One branch like the other,
spreading; a shelter for beings.

Under a wooden staircase sleeps a man.
The spirit of the tree hovers near its fallen home.
The stairs reach through the dark towards candlelight.
Perhaps the tree knew.

Men walk upon it with minds on other parts.
They fail to notice the light.

 

[Snowmelt]

My poems are a bit like comfy pyjamas to me. I'll have to walk out in the new suit of syntax to see how it feels.

 

[Stargazer]

My poems are a bit like comfy pyjamas to me. I'll have to walk out in the new suit of syntax to see how it feels.

Don't get rid of those comfy pyjamas just yet...poetry that is written from the heart speaks to the heart!

 

[Laron]

My poems are a bit like comfy pyjamas to me. I'll have to walk out in the new suit of syntax to see how it feels.

That's how it is for me also!