For all the twinkling lights, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Ten Thousand to One / by Arthur Sze, b. 1950
The Phoenicians guarded a recipe that required
ten thousand murex shells to make
an ounce of Tyrian purple.
Poetry
DPF / Mazur
For mothers and daughters, from poetryfoundation.org.
from I Wish I Want I Need / by Gail Mazur
In Byfield,
in the snowstorm, we bought things
at an antiques mall, she a miniature
Sunbonnet Baby creamer and saucer—
a bargain!—I, a chrome ice bucke
stamped with penguins, with Bakelite handles.
DPF / Frost
For peace, from poetryfoundation.org.
from What the Dove Sings / by Carol Frost
The mourning dove
wearing noon’s aureole
coos from the rhododendron,
oo-waoh, shadow o-
ver what to do. Oh.
DPF / Erdrich
For a time far off in our future just now, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Last Snow / by Heid E. Erdrich, b. 1963
Last snow melts as it falls, piles up slush, runs in first light
making a music in the streets we wish we could keep.
DPF / Tomlinson
For the force, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Snow Signs / by Charles Tomlinson (1927-2015)
As though it were promising a protection
From all it has transfigured, scored and bared,
Now we shall know the force of what resurrection
Outwaits the simplification of the snow.
DPF / Corso
For birthdays. Happy birthday to my newly-minted 10-year old! From Mom and poetryfoundation.org.
from Writ on the Eve of my 32nd Birthday / by Gregory Corso
And the eyes, ah the eyes get better all the time.
DPF / Franklin
For the month, from poetryfoundation.org.
from DECEMBER [1757] XII Month / by Benjamin Franklin
Would you be well receiv’d where’er you go
DPF / Holmes
For firmament and fire, from poetryfoundation.org and 19th-Century American Poetry.
from The Flâneur / by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
I leave my mortal self below,
As up the star-lit stairs I climb,
And still the widening view reveals
In endless rounds the circling wheels
That build the horologe of time.
DPF / Sorley
For the love of running, from poetryfoundation.org.
from The Song of the Ungirt Runners / by Charles Hamilton Sorley (1895–1915)
The winds arise and strike it
And scatter it like sand,
And we run because we like it
Through the broad bright land.
DPF / Spahr
For all the keys on the keyboard which never got so much use as they do now, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Turnt / by Juliana Spahr, b. 1966/Ohio
I texted love you some forty-three times in the last few years.
I texted ❤ some thirty-three times.
Lub u, eighteen times.
Miss you, thirty-eight.
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 