From a firstborn for firstborns. This one’s also from Love Poems by Women, ed. by Wendy Mulford (1990).
from Firstborn / by Katherine Gallagher b. 1935
my dozy lone-traveler set down at last
From a firstborn for firstborns. This one’s also from Love Poems by Women, ed. by Wendy Mulford (1990).
from Firstborn / by Katherine Gallagher b. 1935
my dozy lone-traveler set down at last
Another for dreams. This one’s from Love Poems by Women, ed. by Wendy Mulford (1990).
from In a Dream / by Eleni Fourtouni, trans. by Eleni Fourtouni
no, you were not putting seeds in the soft earth
no, you were not pruning the vines
no, you were not taking in the smells and the visions
For elegies. No Crane yet? This one’s from Chief Modern Poets of Britain and America, Fifth Edition, ed. by Sanders, Nelson and Rosenthal. A fellow Ohioan.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/hart-crane
from Royal Palm / by Hart Crane (1899-1932)
Green rustlings, more than regal charities
Drift coolly from that tower of whispered light.
For the crows. This one’s from Contemporary American Poetry, ed. by Donald Hall (1962). A bio here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/robert-bly
from Where We Must Look for Help / by Robert Bly b. 1926
On the third day the crow shall fly;
The crow, the crow, the spider-coloured crow
For statues. This one’s from Greek Women Poets, ed. by Eleni Fourtouni (1978).
from Mark of Recognition / by Kiki Dimoula, b. 1931
You can’t even
weigh a few raindrops in your hands,
or pick a daisy.
For poetry. This one’s from Ploughshares, Spring 2014, Vol. 40, No. 1.
http://www.pshares.org/read/author-detail.cfm?intAuthorID=7709
from Elegy for the Road / by Tatiana Oroño, b.1947, trans. by Jesse Lee Kercheval
I ask where the things go that did not arrive at their destination.
One for Shakespeare from Keats. This one’s from Great Sonnets, ed. by Paul Negri.
from On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Again / by John Keats (1795–1821)
When through the old oak Forest I am gone,
Let me not wander in a barren dream
from The Flower / by George Herbert
Who would have thought my shriveled heart
Could have recovered greenness?
More for the flowers. This one’s from The New American Poetry, ed. by Donald M. Allen (1960).
from Salute / by James Schuyler (1923-1991)
to gather one
of each kind of clover,
daisy, paintbrush that
grew in that field
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