For happy National Poetry Month, from The Doll Collection, edited by Diane Lockward.
from Dream Doll in the Making / by Marie Beaumont
She named her Serendipity-do.
She became a continuously floating thing.
A fishbowl notoriety followed her everywhere.
Against the elements, she fared well.
Dear Poetry Followers, here’s a fragment from a new book published just this month; it’s from one of our favorite Floridians, and from the book, Rift of Light.
from Complaint / by William Logan
If there are dream houses,
are there undreamed houses
full of the things we desire
or only those we deserve?
For a poet to whom I sent a fan note about twenty years ago, from Heart in a Jar, her new book.
from Dear Life: A Ten-Specimen Cento / by Kathleen McGookey
Whale bones litter the only sky. Fireflies are strung up and dangle by the glass walls.
For the new-school-year days are sort of like a colorful, spinning thing, from Poetry, September 2016.
from Carousel / by Jaya Savige
You were lured in a luminous canoesaid to have once ruled a lunar ocean.
For ghosts I love, from Poetry, September 2017.
from The ghost / by Dorothea Lasky
I forgot to mention that the wings were gold and green
And the winds were heavy
They held his body
Afloat in air as if in the ocean
For our sun, and for a poet with the same last name as our grandparents had, from poets.org.
from Sci-Fi / by Tracy K. Smith
Eons from even our own moon, we’ll driftIn the haze of space, which will be, onceAnd for all, scrutable and safe.
For our lived-in house renovation, from poets.org; the diy part is not as easy as it looked on paper!
from Regardless of Disaster / by Jessica Greenbaum
Only through a disaster or a renovation
does the entire brick side of a house come down
and in this case the workmen threw stoves and refrigerators
out the windows, letting them bounce
off the fire escapes into the little Brooklyn yard.
For a bit more summer, from poets.org.
from A Lesson for This Sunday / by Derek Walcott
The growing idleness of summer grass
With its frail kites of furious butterflies
Requests the lemonade of simple praise
In scansion gentler than my hammock swings
For travel days, from the pedestrians.
from the other city / by Rachel Zucker
‘Yes,’ she thought, through a haze of jet lag, ‘there should be no limits placed on the value of a very fine cheese.’
For a favorite poem from poets.org.
from To My Favorite 17-Year-Old-High-School Girl / by Billy Collins
A few centuries later, when he was your age,
Franz Schubert was doing the dishes for his family,
but that did not keep him from composing two symphonies, four operas and two complete masses as a youngster.
But of course, that was in Austria at the height of Romantic lyricism