Mary Oliver


Mary Oliver Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
81. Dogfish 1/13/2003
82. A Meeting 1/13/2003
83. August 1/13/2003
84. At Blackwater Pond 1/13/2003
85. Mindful 3/30/2005
86. The Summer Day 1/13/2003
87. After Arguing Against The Contention That Art Must Come From Discontent 1/13/2003
88. When Death Comes 1/3/2003
89. The Journey 1/3/2003
90. Wild Geese 1/3/2003
91. A Visitor 1/3/2003
92. A Dream Of Trees 3/30/2005

Comments about Mary Oliver

  • ***** ***** (3/30/2005 6:59:00 PM)

    Oh Mary, this is why this site is worth visiting...Sx

    5 person liked.
    5 person did not like.
  • Lenchen Elf (3/30/2005 6:18:00 PM)

    Mary, I am in awe and enraptured by the beauty of your work, thank you so much for sharing it.

  • Lare Austin (9/29/2004 12:25:00 PM)

    Mary...
    Recently a friend of mine became discouraged with her poetry and although she had just published a chapbook she was going to give up her poetry writing. She loves to write about nature. I gave her my copy of your book 'Why I Wake Early'. She is now re-inspired and looks very much forward to continuing her poetry writing. I, too, am also inspired by your writing.

    I Thank You.

    Lare Austin

Best Poem of Mary Oliver

A Dream Of Trees

There is a thing in me that dreamed of trees,
A quiet house, some green and modest acres
A little way from every troubling town,
A little way from factories, schools, laments.
I would have time, I thought, and time to spare,
With only streams and birds for company.
To build out of my life a few wild stanzas.
And then it came to me, that so was death,
A little way away from everywhere.

There is a thing in me still dreams of trees,
But let it go. Homesick for moderation,
Half the world’s artists shrink or fall away.
If any find solution, let him ...

Read the full of A Dream Of Trees

At Blackwater Pond

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled
after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold
into my body, waking the bones. I hear them
deep inside me, whispering
oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?

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