from As Is / by Marie Ponsot
The house of my mother is sold with
All its trees and their usual tall music.
20th-Century American Poetry
DPF / Ciardi
Am bird obsessed. So, this one is from Bright Wings: An Illustrated Anthology of Poems About Birds, ed. by Billy Collins, with paintings by David Allen Sibley. More information on Collins and Ciardi at www.poets.org.
from Bird Watching / by John Ciardi
A bird is a bird as long as it is
there. Then it is a miracle our crumbs and
sunflower seeds caught and let go.
DPF / Gerstler
This is from her book, Crown of Weeds, bought, possibly, on Dubuque Street, at Prairie Lights. Or, that’s the bookmark that was in it when I bought it.
from Crown of Weeds / by Amy Gerstler
Much of me is dead, but more of me
is stronger. I still consume the world
with my eyes
DPF / Howe
from Anna Akhmatova / by Fanny Howe
you’d know me as your own.
If only I could call you
mother!
DPF / Hecht
from The Hill / by Anthony Hecht
And that was all, except for the cold and silence
That promised to last forever, like the hill.
DPF / Kleinzahler
So many things, daily, remind me of Bartleby.
from Poem Beginning with a Fragment from Bartleby the Scrivener / by August Kleinzahler
Something about that it was the princess, not
the Pavane, that was supposed to be dead.
DPF / Roethke
No Roethke yet? Oh no.
from The Lost Son / by Theodore Roethke
A lively understandable spirit
Once entertained you.
It will come again.
Be still.
Wait.
DPF / Cummings
from 73 Poems: #19 / by E. E. Cummings
Q: how numb can an unworld get?
A: number
DPF / Doolittle
I did not know she was a classmate of Marianne Moore’s. Wonder if they got along? I picture HD slumped in the back, and Marianne Moore bent over her paper in the front row.
from Moonrise / by H.D.
She is great,
we measure her by the pine trees.
DPF / Williams
Stevens reminds me of Williams. Both had extensive responsibilities in the real world, and both, maybe because of those responsibilities, grew very colorful inner sanctums.
from Pictures from Brueghel: The Hunters in the Snow / by William Carlos Willams
a winter-struck bush for his
foreground to
complete the picture
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 