DPF / Brooks Barbour

For Day 30, the the last day of National Poetry Month, 2016, from a dear, ether friend, from her lovely book, Beautifully Whole.

from Red Scales / by Julie Brooks Barbour

Finally she threw him into the pond

behind her house where he sank to the bottom
and waited for her to call.

DPF / Tufariello

For Day 30, the the last day of National Poetry Month, 2016, from a sweet friend and her book, Keeping My Name.

from Chemist’s Daughter / by Catherine Tufariello

        a Milky Way
was whirling on the tip of my fingernail,
ten thousand planets dancing on its pale
half moon

DPF / Gluck

For Day 29, from The Wild Iris.

from End of Winter / by Louise Gluck

Over the still world, a bird calls
walking solitary among black boughs.

DPF / Akhmatova

For Day 28, my birthday day ten months away, from The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova.

from At the Edge of the Sea / by Anna Akhmatova (1889–1966)
Bays cut into the low-lying shore,
all the sails were fleeing out to sea,
And I was drying my salty braid
On a flat rock a mile from land.

DPF / Kocot

For Day 27, from Phantom Pains of Madness.

from The Stars / by Noelle Kocot

I
Wish
I
Could
Shake
Loose
Of
Them

DPF / Taylor

For Day 26, from Knopf Poem-a-Day and Monster Verse.

from The Visitor / by Tess Taylor

It is not trapped: It cannot be let
out.

DPF / Sexton

For Day 25, a controversial girl, from Transformations.

from Rumpelstiltskin / by Anne Sexton

She wept,
of course, huge aquamarine tears.
The door opened and in popped a dwarf.

DPF / Carver

For Day 24 of National Poetry Month and for trout and still waters and writers of fiction who also believe in poetry, from today’s Knopf Poem A Day.

from Poem for Hemingway & W. C. Williams / by Raymond Carver

the other,
          medical man,
he knows the chances
          of that.
he thinks it fine
          that they should
simply hang there
          always
in the clear water.

DPF / Ryan

For Day 23, from The Best of It.

from After Zeno / by Kay Ryan

Where is is
when is is was?
I have an is
but where is his?

DPF / Collins

For Day 22, from Picnic, Lighting.

from In the Room of a Thousand Miles / by Billy Collins

My wife hands these poems back to me
with a sigh.
She thinks I ought to be opening up
my aperture to let in
the wild rhododendrons of Ireland