For mystery, from a favorite by Mark Strand. This full version was found at npr:
and at The Storialist blog:
from The Mysterious Arrival of an Unusual Letter / by Mark Strand
It had been a long day at the office and a long ride back to the small apartment where I lived. When I got there I flicked on the light and saw on the table an envelope with my name on it. Where was the clock? Where was the calendar?
For weather reports, from the weather, by Lisa Robertson.
from Monday / by Lisa Robertson, b.1961
The day pours out space, a light red roominess, bright and fresh. Bright and oft. Bright and fresh.
So sad to see that Mark Strand died yesterday. Thankful he lived through this last Thanksgiving. Love this one from his book, The Weather of Words. Here’s a small part of it.
from Narrative Poetry / by Mark Strand
I wanted to remind them that the narrative poem takes the place of an absent narrative and is always absorbing the other’s absence so it can be named, and, at the same time, relinquishing its own presence to the awful solitudes of forgetfulness.
Really, no Carson yet? This one’s from The Best of the Best American Poetry, 1988-1997, edited by Harold Bloom. More on the poet here:
from Hölderlin Town / by Anne Carson b. 1950
You are mad to mourn alone.
With the wells gone dry.
For oxen, from Poetry, September 2014. The rest of the poem is here:
from Studies of an Ox’s Heart, c. 1511-1513 / by Sylvia Legris b. 1960
Cool the controversial hearthstone. Let the blade intervene with the divine intersects bovinity.
For palaces, from Poetry, September 2014. More here:
from Across from the Winter Palace / by Noah Warren
In the rose-and-blue windows of the basilica
Today radiant Burghers stood and learned Mercy in a circle