Earth Hour Quotes

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Earth Hour Earth Hour by David Malouf
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Earth Hour Quotes Showing 1-5 of 5
“The planet, saved for another day, stokes up
its slow-burning gases and toxic dust, gold rift and scarlet

gash that take our breath away; a world at its interminable
show of holy dying. And we go with it, the old

gatherer and hunter. To its gaudy-day, though the contribution
is small, adding our handsel of warm clay.”
David Malouf, Earth Hour
“But here we call it Spring, when a young man’s fancy turns,
fitfully, lightly, to idling in the sun,
to touching in the dark. And the old man's?

To worms in their garden box; stepping aside
a moment in a poem that will remember,
fitfully, who made it and the discord

and stammer, and change of heart and catch of breath
it sprang from. A bending down
lightly to touch the earth.”
David Malouf, Earth Hour
“There is law enough all about us
in almanack and season, anniversary

days come round, the round earth's carnivale
of chimes and recessionals.
Good to be included

there. Good also what is not
fixed or sure even,
the second breath of being

here when the May-bush
snows in mid-September, as giddy
happenstance leads us

this way into
a lost one's arms, or that way
deeper into the maze.”
David Malouf, Earth Hour
Toccata II

A man sits pen in hand, paper
before him. What is on his mind
he will set down now, the word not to be spoken

lightly. As if of all
his words this was the one that touched the heart
of things and made touch

the last sense of all as it was the first, and the word
that speaks it loaded
with all that came strongest, a planet's-worth

of sunlight, cooling green, the close comfort
of kind. It is the world he must set down
now, also lightly, each thing

changed yet as it was: in so many fumblings traced back
to the print of his fingertips still warm upon it, the warmth
that came when he was touched.

The last, as he sets it down, no more than
a breath, though much
that is still to be grasped may turn upon it.”
David Malouf, Earth Hour
Shy Gifts

Shy gifts that come to us from a world that may not
even know we’re here. Windfalls, scantlings.

Breaking a bough like breathy flute-notes, a row
of puffed white almond-blossom, the word in hiding

among newsprint that has other news to tell.
In a packed aisle at the supermarket, I catch

the eye of a wordless one-year-old, whale-blue,
unblinking. It looks right through me, recognising

what? Wisely mistrustful but unwisely
impulsive as we are, we take these givings

as ours and meant for us — why else so leap
to receive them? — and go home lighter

of step to the table set, the bed turned down, the book
laid open under the desk-lamp, pages astream

with light like angels' wings, arched for take-off.”
David Malouf, Earth Hour
tags: poetry