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.
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
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.
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.
For Day 27, from Phantom Pains of Madness.
from The Stars / by Noelle Kocot
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
For Day 25, a controversial girl, from Transformations.
from Rumpelstiltskin / by Anne Sexton
of course, huge aquamarine tears.
The door opened and in popped a dwarf.
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
he knows the chances
he thinks it fine
that they should
simply hang there
in the clear water.
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?
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