For banquets and flowers, from Tsim Tsum.
from The Departure / by Sabrina Orah Mark
‘You do not know anymore,’ sighed Walter B., ‘what is real.’ Walter B. and Beatrice stood in the dark. They held hands and watched wagons pass by.
DPF / Witek
For charms, from Exit Island.
from Three Times is Still the Charm / by Terri Witek
Mint? Purple clover? Memory’s
small-scale deliriums.
DPF / Kees
For a late Sunday evening in which the teenager, in the company of and watched over by kindness and grace, makes it home safely from the fair, from The Collected Poems of Weldon Kees.
from Praise to the Mind / by Weldon Kees
Praise to the mind
That moves toward meaning,
Kindness; mixes keenness
With routine of
Grace, has space,
And finds its place.
DPF / Mark
For sleep and red stoves, from The Babies.
from Osip Zoo / by Sabrina Orah Mark
There are those for whom Osip Zoo does, and then there are the rest of us.
DPF / Tate
For poetry, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Poem to Some of my Recent Poems / by James Tate
you owe your beauty to your mother, who
resembled a cyclindrical corned beef
with all the trimmings
DPF / Lundkvist
For dreams, from Journey in Dreams and Imagination.
from The plain seems / by Artur Lundkvist
The plain seems almost like a desert, with sparse grass in the sand, and a wagon covered with a vault of sailcloth as in the Old West is seen traveling away, toward the sharply cut, harshly blue mountains
DPF / Orr
For summer, from Gathering the Bones Together.
from The Transformation / by Gregory Orr
At night the house fills with seawater,
and you become a gigantic turtle.
DPF / Ostriker
For yesterday’s visit to Santa Cruz, from poetryfoundation.org.
from The Dogs at Live Oak Beach, Santa Cruz / by Alicia Ostriker
Teeth into floating wood
Then bound back to their owners
Shining wet, with passionate speed
For nothing,
For absolutely nothing but joy.
DPF / Glück
For a belated yesterday, from Poems 1962-2012.
from A Summer Garden / by Louise Glück
Summer arrived. The children
leaned over the rose border, their shadows
merging with the shadows of the roses.
DPF / Hall
For baseball, from The Old Life.
from The Thirteenth Inning / by Donald Hall
When the moon rises, light standards cast eldritch shadows
on players who cast no shadows, and we observe four
transparent pitchers superimposed on each other,
from ghostly Babe Ruth past Cy Young and Smokey Joe Wood
to Parson Lewis.
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 