For a woman who lived the dark in a fairytale and couldn’t unearth her way out, from Transformations.
from One-Eye, Two-Eyes, Three-Eyes / by Anne Sexton
The next morning they all saw
a great tree with leaves of silver
glittering like tinfoil
and apples made of fourteen carat gold.
For Derek Walcott, the Nobel-prize winning poet we lost Friday on one of our last days of winter, from poetryfoundation.org. I sat next to him at dinner after a poetry workshop which William Logan had arranged for our class. Walcott carried his island with him and seemed like a man thoroughly at home anywhere.
from The Season of Phantasmal Peace / by Derek Walcott
For what’s human that the trees don’t need to worry over, or do, from To a Blossoming Pear Tree.
from To a Blossoming Pear Tree / by James Wright
For if you could only listen,
I would tell you something,
Something human.
For dreams and other oddities, from Memoir of the Hawk.
from Hanging By a Thread / by James Tate
They looked puzzled, what did
we mean? They had gone to bed early and slept
well. They knew nothing about sledding at
midnight, nothing at all.
For how could I forget Heaney on St. Patrick’s Day? This one’s a favorite from North.
from The Grauballe Man / by Seamus Heaney
As if he had been poured
in tar, he lies
on a pillow of turf
and seems to weep
the black river of himself.
For poetry on St. Patrick’s Day, from a poet to whom I passed the handshake passed to me from a hand that shook Emily Dickinson’s, and from The Trouble with Poetry: And Other Poems.
from The Trouble with Poetry / by Billy Collins
But mostly poetry fills me
with the urge to write poetry,
to sit in the dark and wait for a little flame
to appear at the tip of my pencil.
For rules for everything, from The Trouble with Poetry.
from The Student / by Billy Collins
My poetry instruction book,
which I bought at an outdoor stall along the river,
contains many rules
about what to avoid and what to follow.
For things that overflow, like grief sometimes does, from The House in the Sand.
from The Sea / by Pablo Neruda, translated by Dennis Maloney and Clark Zlotchew
The Pacific Ocean was overflowing the borders of the map. There was no place to put it. It was so large, wild and blue that it didn’t fit anywhere. That’s why it was left in front of my window.
For fate or random chance, whichever side you fall on, from Birthday Letters.
from Fulbright Scholars / by Ted Hughes
For some reason I noticed it.
A picture of that year’s intake
Of Fulbright Scholars. Just arriving —
Or arrived. Or some of them.
Were you among them?
For my sister’s birthday today, from https://allpoetry.com/A.A.-Milne.
from Us Two / by A.A. Milne
‘I wasn’t afraid,’ said Pooh, said he,
‘I’m never afraid with you.’
poetry, publishing, and mentoring
A periodic, open discussion of particular poems
a resource for moving poetry
from lined paper, to Royal, to Smith Corona, to floppy disk, to 1TB hard drive...it's all a result of the passing wind.
Writer & Visual Artist
Reading Around The World
A blog about books, writing and mental health
a journal of contemporary poetry
Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.
Global issues, travel, photography & fashion. Drifting across the globe; the world is my oyster, my oyster through a lens.
Rare Books from 1st Editions and Antiquarian Books
"I am offering this poem to you, since I have nothing else to give." ~Jimmy Santiago Baca
another site about the arts and writing ...
Fine traditional letterpress printing and hand bookbinding.
"We're all out there, somewhere, waiting to happen."
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 