For a scary book, almost worse than nightmares and some real days, from Crow.
from Lineage / by Ted Hughes
Who begat Nothing
Who begat Never
Never Never Never
Who begat Crow
20th-Century English Poetry
DPF / Eliot
For the end of a long, many-win, cloud-cover, track-&-field day, from The Waste Land.
from The Waste Land: A Game of Chess / by T.S. Eliot
Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
DPF / Eliot
For National Poetry Month, which I’m supposing is our month because of Eliot, from The Waste Land.
from The Waste Land / by T.S. Eliot
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
DPF / Hughes
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?
DPF / Hughes
For another rain dance for our empty canals, from Lupercal.
from Crow Hill / by Ted Hughes
The farms are oozing craters in
Sheer sides under the sodden moors:
When it is not wind it is rain
DPF / Keats
For the first day of autumn, a day on which the high temperature fell twenty-four degrees from Tuesday, in honor of the day, from poetryfoundation.org.
from To Autumn / by John Keats
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 