For pumpkin soup, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Days of 1994: Alexandrians / by Marilyn Hacker, b. 1942
Four months (I say) I’ll see her, see him again.
(I dream my life; I wake to contingencies.)
Now I walk home along the river,
into the wind, as the clouds break open.
For our January fog (which I love) whose job it is to keep the green at bay while inadvertently encouraging it, from The Oxford Book of American Poetry, edited by David Lehman.
from To John Keats, Poet at Spring Time / by Countee Cullen (1903-1946)
Somehow I feel your sensitive will
Is pulsing up some tremulous
Sap road of a maple tree, whose leaves
Grow music as they grow
More flowers. This one’s in American Poets, The Journal of the Academy of American Poets, Spring-Summer 2014. And, it’s from his book, The Mercy. More here:
from Northern Motive / by Philip Levine b. 1928
little, delicate white jump-ups that open for
only a few hours, live their lives, turn to dust
before the day ends
More gardening. And, more here:
from A Garden of Bees / by Matthew Rohrer b. 1970
I buy the poem from the garden
of bees for one euro.
An American poet who also happens to be a woman and who also happened to be writing in the 1980’s.
from The Dream of the Unified Field / by Jorie Graham
black, shiny, twirling on its single stem,
rooting, one foot on the earth,
twisting and twisting —