For running barefoot to know the time, from the kind friend who wrote the lovely, Mendeleev’s Mandala.
from A Sundial Explains the Uncertainty Principle / by Jessica Goodfellow
In the Dark Ages, serfs scratched sundials
into the bottoms of wooden clogs.
To discern the hour, they went barefoot,
dusty shoes upended to catch the sun.
PIA: from October 14, 2014.
Another for the children of October, from An Eyeball in My Garden, edited by two expert and generous poetry friends, Jennifer Cole Judd and Laura Wynkoop, and illustrated by Johan Olander.
http://www.eyeballinmygarden.com/2012/10/spotlight-interview-angela-mcmullen.html
from The Witching Hour / by Angela McMullen
On moonless nights she lies in bed,
With sleepless eyelids twitching.
For October birthdays and milestones, from The Art of Drowning, a favorite title. Drowning is an art, like everything else.
from On Turning Ten / by Billy Collins
You tell me it is too early to be looking back,
but that is because you have forgotten
the perfect simplicity of being one
and the beautiful complexity introduced by two.
For baby boys, from Picnic, Lightning.
from Moon / by Billy Collins
It’s as full as it was
in that poem by Coleridge
where he carries his year-old son
into the orchard behind the cottage
and turns the baby’s face to the sky
PIA: from October, 2014.
One for the children of October, from An Eyeball in My Garden, edited by Jennifer Cole Judd and Laura Wyncoop.
from Winking Wot Warning / by Debra Leith
The Wots I’ve seen are three feet high,
With pointed feet turned toward the sky.
For art, from The Best of It.
from Easter Island / by Kay Ryan
As planned,
a long chorus
of monoliths
had replaced
the forest
For many prayers for Florida, so that they can return to their music and flowers. From American Poetics in the 21st Century, edited by Claudia Rankine and Lisa Sewell.
from Year Zero / by Joshua Clover
Year Zero the mistakes have yet to be invented and music — well it comes down to inventing flowers.
For journeys of all kinds, from Poetry, October 2016.
from The Boatman / by Carolyn Forché
You tell me are a poet. If so, our destination is the same.
I find myself now the boatman, driving a taxi at the end of the world.
I will see that you arrive safely, my friend, I will get you there.
PIA: from October 30, 2015, with apologies for the day’s delay. Another rain dance headed your way. We had a cloud or two, today, but not a drop.
Among so many unforgettable images and moments, let this one be for the rain. From Citizen, by Claudia Rankine.
from I / by Claudia Rankine
The rain this morning pours from the gutters and everywhere else it is lost in the trees.
PIA: from September 25, 2014.
For moths, from the University of Florida journal,subtropics, Winter/Spring 2011.
from Dear Winged / by Erin Murphy
Cacophony of moths. Fragile
as egg shells.
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