For Novembers past, from poetryfoundation.org.
from The Flash Reverses Time / by A. Van Jordan, b. 1965
and the people look, look in that bewildered way,
in my direction, I imagine
walking slowly into my past
Poetry
DPF / Tranströmer
For church bells and Wednesdays, from New and Collected Poems, by Tomas Tranströmer.
from November in the Former DDR / by Tomas Tranströmer
November offers caramels of granite.
Unpredictable!
DPF / Maxwell
For the new month, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Lines written under the conviction that it is not wise to read Mathematics in November after one’s fire is out / by JAMES CLERK MAXWELL
Round about the marshes low,
Stiffening students stumping go
Shivering through their flannel.
DPF / Webster
For pointy hats and black cats, from Poetry, March, 1926.
from One Time At Salem / by Louise Webster
She said that she could make a moon
And some folks knew it,
And if they didn’t mend their ways
She’d up and do it.
DPF / Rankine
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.
DPF / Skurnick
For clocks whose hands move backwards, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Grand Central, Track 23 / by Elizabeth Skurnick
The laureled, relentless clocks. The sceptered row
Of columns dreams one o’clock, immense,
Inviolate. What time is it? I don’t know.
DPF / Follain
For plumage and threads, from Selected Translations, by W.S. Merwin.
from Absence / by Jean Follain (1903-1971, French)
one leaf taking wing
only the man has to know how long it will take
DPF / Gibb
For autumn, from poetryfoundation.org.
from For the Chipmunk in My Yard / by Robert Gibb
He’s lucky
To be where he is, wild with all that happens.
DPF / Aspenström
For insanity and dreams, from The Star By My Head: Poets from Sweden, edited and translated by Malena Mörling and Jonas Ellerström.
from The Dream / by Werner Aspenstrom (1918-1997)
If you don’t dream you’ll go insane.
But mid-dream you’re awakened by your common sense,
who orders a full English breakfast.
DPF / Hacker
For pumpkin soup, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Days of 1994: Alexandrians / by Marilyn Hacker, b. 1942
Four months (I say) I’ll see her, see him again.
(I dream my life; I wake to contingencies.)
Now I walk home along the river,
into the wind, as the clouds break open.
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 