For Mom’s 74th birthday today, from poetryfoundation.org.
from 44th Birthday Evening at Harris ‘ s/ by Ted Berrigan.
44 years I’ve loved these dreams today
17 years since I wrote for the first time a poem
On my birthday, why did I wait so long?
20th-Century American Poetry
DPF / Warren
For mothers and daughters, from The Best American Poetry, 1997, edited by James Tate.
from Diversion / by Rosanna Warren
“Darling, I can’t
locate myself–” “Where
are you?”
DPF / Butson
For bus stops, from Poetry 180, edited by Billy Collins.
from Tuesday / by Denver Butson
A man standing at the bus stop
reading a newspaper is on fire
DPF / Fogel
For St. Bridget Press, from Poetry 180, edited by Billy Collins.
from The Printer’s Error / by Aaron Fogel
First: I hold that all books
and all printed
matter have
errors, obvious or no,
and that these are their
most significant moments
DPF / Bowers
Another for trees from Georgia, and from poetryfoundation.org.
from Autumn Shade / by Edgar Bowers (1924-2000)
The autumn shade is thin. Grey leaves lie faint
Where they will lie, and, where the thick green was,
Light stands up, like a presence, to the sky.
The trees seem merely shadows of its age.
Where they will lie, and, where the thick green was,
Light stands up, like a presence, to the sky.
The trees seem merely shadows of its age.
DPF / Kunitz
While this should be a “first-day-of-autumn” poem, as it turns out, it’s a last-day-of-summer poem for centenarians from a centenarian, from poetryfoundation.org.
from End of Summer / by Stanley Kunitz (1905-2006)
I stood in the disenchanted field
Amid the stubble and the stones,
Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me
The song of my marrow-bones.
Amid the stubble and the stones,
Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me
The song of my marrow-bones.
DPF / Mitchell
For poems by children, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Autumn / by Joan Mitchell
The fields are matted with sun-tanned stalks —
Wind rushes by.
DPF / Dove
For 5th grade, from Poetryfoundation.org.
from Fifth Grade Autobiography / by Rita Dove
I was four in this photograph fishing
with my grandparents at a lake in Michigan.
My brother squats in poison ivy.
His Davy Crockett cap
sits squared on his head
DPF / Gioia
For dead letters, from the Poetry app spin.
from The Letter / by Dana Gioia
And we still wait like children who have sent
Two weeks’ allowance far away
To answer an enticing advertisement
From a crumbling, yellow magazine
DPF / Levi
For fathers and daughters, from Poetry 180, edited by Billy Collins.
from Not Bad, Dad, Not Bad / by Jan Heller Levi
I think how different everything might have been
had I judged your loving
like I judge your sidestroke, your butterfly
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 