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.
DPF / Skinner
For the love of books and for a day more like heaven than not, from poetryfoundation.org.
from The Bookshelf of the God of Infinite Space / by Jeffrey Skinner
You would expect an uncountable number,
Acres and acres of books in rows
Like wheat or gold bullion. Or that the words just
Appear in the mind, like banner headlines.
DPF / Lindsay
For winter, from poetryfoundation.org.
from The Eagle That is Forgotten / by Vachel Lindsay (1879–1931)
A hundred white eagles have risen the sons of your sons,
The zeal in their wings is a zeal that your dreaming began
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 