For talking dogs, from poemhunter.com.
from The Dog Stolz / by August Kleinzahler
looked in my eye and smiled, best as a dog can,
then turned ruminative and spoke once more:
–“I simply have to knock off that essay on Sassoon.”
This would have been Sassoon the war poet, understand.
Dogs cannot write. My mother told me this.
For a favorite poem, a favorite poet, and extraordinariness. From the extraordinary book, Tsim Tsum, by extraordinary Sabrina Orah Mark.
from Walter B.’s Extraordinary Cousin Arrives for a Visit / by Sabrina Orah Mark
When Walter B.’s extraordinary cousin arrived for a visit, Beatrice and Walter B. were in the bath reciting scenes from their favorite sentences.
For a favorite poem and interviews, from a fashion and poetry blog:
http://fashionpoetrylalanii.com/search/tate
from The Ice Cream Man / by James Tate
“Do you have much experience climbing tall mountains?” “Absolutely.
I climb them all the time. If I see a tall mountain, I have to
climb it immediately,” I said. “What about swimming long distances
in rough ocean waters, perhaps in a storm?” he said. “I’m like
a fish, you can’t stop me. I just keep going in all kinds of
weather,” I said. “Could you fly a glider at night and land in
a wheat field, possibly under enemy fire?” he said. “Nothing
could come more naturally to me,” I said.
For mothers and sons, from American Poetry Review, January/February 2016.
from Moon Seen Two Days Before Thanksgiving / by Carl Adamshick
My mother is the glass cabinet
with snow falling
Happy New Year, 2016! From poetryfoundation.org.
from New Year / by Bei Dao, translated by David Hinton and Yanbing Chen
a child carrying flowers walks toward the new year
a conductor tattooing darkness
listens to the shortest pause
For Barbies and green hills, from poetryfoundation.org.
from beverly, huh. / by Jamila Woods
your parents
must have grown
on trees
For good days, from poetryfoundation.org.
from In November / by Lisel Mueller
But when I wake up, sunlight
has taken over the room.
You have already made the coffee
and the radio brings us music
from a confident age.
For balloons and lions, from Poets.org.
from Kristin’s Dream in November / by Bernadette Mayer, b. 1945
Frozen petals fell behind the red curtain
So slowly they woke me like a knock on door #7
For a week early, from Domestic Fugues, by Richard Newman.
from Bless Their Hearts / by Richard Newman
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.
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