DPF / Holmes

Dear Poetry Followers, this one’s for Ms. Dickinson, from THE MS OF MY KIN.

from 1862.29 / by Janet Holmes

          who heard
                the Birds


    No one could

                   Eden —

DPF / Whitman

For a Happy 4th, if you celebrate it, and for a happy Tuesday, if not, from poetryfoundation.org.

from I Hear America Singing / by Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,

DPF / Dickinson

For does grief global, religious, or personal, ever feel lighter than the moment it found you? From Emily Dickinson: Selected Poems.

from Griefs / by Emily Dickinson

I wonder if when years have piled —
Some thousands — on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause

DPF / Moore

For the night, from The Night Before Christmas. 

from The Night Before Christmas / by Clement C. Moore or Henry Livingston, Jr.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.

DPF / Dickinson

PIA: from December 31, 2015.

Something needed in this year of rapid change and uncertainty.

from ‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers / by Emily Dickinson

‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

DPF / Whitman

For the love of fathers and daughters, from poetryfoundation.org.

from On the Beach at Night / by Walt Whitman

Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter
Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades.