from Silence / by Thomas Hood b. 1789
There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
More silence for Ms. Angelou, once silent for years, but now forever not. With all her words scattered near and far and everywhere translated in between, never ever silent forever. And, more here:
from Kin / by Maya Angelou b. 1928
More on silence. Or, “Moore” on silence. No Marianne Moore yet?! Fathers and daughters: here’s a quote from her father, below. More/Moore here:
from Silence / by Marianne Moore b. 1887
“The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint.”
And, more silence. And, more here and here:
from What are the Consequences of Silence? 53. / by Bhanu Kapil Rider b. 1968
Opening in slow motion: are you okay? Are you okay? Can
you hear me?
More silence. And, more here:
from Ghazal in Silence / by Mimi Khalvati b.1944
Three syllables of equal weight, equal stress,
dropped in a well, keep falling short in silence.
More silence. And, more here:
from Bone & Silence / by Gerald Fleming
…and at last Bone feels entitled to speak to Silence. There are prerequisites: proper depth, aridity, desiccation, ph balance, density, and a kind of confidence.
Silence for this week. Love this one. More here:
from What He Thought / by Heather McHugh
Is it the fruits and vegetables
and marketplace at Campo dei Fiori
or the statue there?”
More dreaming. I know I missed Berryman this week, but I’m still attempting not to repeat poets for as many months as I can hold out. And, more here, again:
from A Dream Within a Dream / by Edgar Allan Poe b. 1809
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
More dreams. And, more here:
from Book Said Dream and I Do / by Barbara Ras b. 1949
The feathers of the birds made the air soft, softer
than the quiet in a cocoon waiting for wings
Another dream. Today, I dream of my daughter, who woke to thirteen, turned teen overnight.
from Postcard to I. Kaminsky from a Dream at the Edge of the Sea / by Cecilia Woloch
I was leaving a country of rain for a country of apples. I hadn’t much time.
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