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
DPF / Leith
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.
DPF / Heaney
For my sister and brother-in-law and niece’s home, from one Irish family to another, and from Station Island.
from Remembering Malibu / by Seamus Heaney
The Pacific at your door was wilder and colder
than my notion of the Pacific
and that was perfect
DPF / Ryan
For art, from The Best of It.
from Easter Island / by Kay Ryan
As planned,
a long chorus
of monoliths
had replaced
the forest
DPF / Clover
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.
DPF / Tate
For every day is a good day for Tate, from The Eternal Ones of the Dream.
from Quabbin Reservoir / by James Tate
I thought I heard a lute being played, high up,
in the birch trees, or a faun speaking French
with a Brooklyn accent. A snowy owl watched me
with half-closed eyes.
DPF / Messer
PIA: from July 13, 2016.
For mice again, from Dress Made of Mice.
from Hidden Dolls House / by Sarah Messer
the mother cried, Help me lift this kettle
off the fire, daughter, and the hired
man ran for water
DPF / Tate
For October-like gatherings, from The Eternal Ones of the Dream.
from Hotel of the Golden Dawn / by James Tate
It was clear to us that the real owners
of the hotel were spiders. They were everywhere
but you had to look carefully. They had ingenious
ways of disguising themselves, except for the
clerk at the check-in desk.
DPF / Forché
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.
DPF / Stone
For both are beautiful: the dirt beneath our feet, and the paintings of the dirt beneath our feet, from Ordinary Words.
from At the Museum, 1938 / by Ruth Stone
Outside, the great elms along the streets in Urbana,
their green arched cathedral canopies; the continuous
singing of birds among their breathing branches.
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 