For every animal, place, color, and weather is poetry if you look for it, from There’s the Hand and There’s the Arid Chair.
from The Suns / by Tomaž Šalamun
Lie down, little doe!
Rest in peace and mew.
It’s warm in the snow.
Where is my voice?
Poetry
DPF / Faulkner
For when it’s your birthday, you get to choose a favorite moment of poetic prose and call it, not “purple prose,” but poetry, from The Sound and the Fury.
from The Sound and the Fury: April Eighth 1928 / by William Faulkner
She wore a stiff black straw hat perched upon her turban, and a maroon velvet cape with a border of mangy and anonymous fur above a dress of purple silk, and she stood in the door for awhile with her myriad and sunken face lifted to the weather, and one gaunt hand flac-soled as the belly of a fish, then she moved the cape aside and examined the bosom of her gown.
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 / Shakespeare
For those who believe love speaks for itself and should not be given or taken on demand, from the Folio text, 2008, in The Norton Shakespeare: Tragedies, Based on the Oxford Edition, 2nd edition.
from King Lear / by William Shakespeare
Cordelia Nothing, my lord.
Lear Nothing?
Cordelia Nothing.
Lear Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.
DPF / Levis
For moments which pass so quickly, from The Widening Spell of the Leaves.
from The Spell of the Leaves / by Larry Levis
On Sundays, hiking, the boy finds wildflowers.
They look them up in a field guide before
She places them, like stillness itself, in a vase —
DPF / Valentine
For seeking life in the middle of everything, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Sanctuary / by Jean Valentine
Yes I know: the thread you have to keep finding, over again, to
follow it back to life; I know. Impossible, sometimes.
DPF / Antrobus
For decibels and angels, from Poetry, March 2017.
from Echo / by Raymond Antrobus
And no one knew what I was missing
until a doctor gave me a handful of Legos
and said to put a brick on the table
every time I heard a sound.
After the test I still held enough bricks
in my hand to build a house
and call it my sanctuary
DPF / Frank
For someone who must have done a perfect rain dance this month, from poetryfoundation.org.
from February Rain / by Florence Kiper Frank
We shall be forever in this room held tight
By the wind and the endless fall of the rain upon snow.
There are tulips upon the window-sill, there is the bright
Gnawing of fire on shadow
DPF / Shakespeare
For the sonnet which engendered yesterday’s erasure, from The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Fourth Edition: 1.
from Sonnet 97 / by William Shakespeare
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.
DPF / Bervin
For erasures of Shakespeare’s sonnets, from Nets.
from 97 / by Jen Bervin
the very birds are mute
Or, if they sing
leaves look pale
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 