For flying cars, from Breathing the Water.
from Poet Power / by Denise Levertov
And he takes both hands
off the wheel and swings round,
glittering with joy: “Benedetti!
Mario Benedetti!”
There are
hallelujas in his voice —
Poetry
DPF / Neruda
For, as they say, the clouds cried today, finally, and that reminds me of the ocean. From The House in the Sand: Prose Poems by Pablo Neruda.
from The Sea / by Pablo Neruda, translated by Dennis Maloney and Clark M. Zlotchew
The salt of seven leagues, horizontal salt, crystalline salt of the rectangle, stormy salt, the salt of the seven seas, salt.
DPF / Hearne
For the fathers, from nervous horses.
from My Father Rode Great, Silver Birds / by Vicki Hearne
He rode B-52’s. He went off
Into the blue yonder on
Silver birds that leaped
Plashless into the air, then
Carried him safely home.
DPF / Leith
PIA: from October, 2014.
One for the children of October, from An Eyeball in My Garden, edited by Jennifer Cole Judd and Laura Wyncoop.
from Winking Wot Warning / by Debra Leith
The Wots I’ve seen are three feet high,
With pointed feet turned toward the sky.
DPF / Heaney
For my sister and brother-in-law and niece’s home, from one Irish family to another, and from Station Island.
from Remembering Malibu / by Seamus Heaney
The Pacific at your door was wilder and colder
than my notion of the Pacific
and that was perfect
DPF / Ryan
For art, from The Best of It.
from Easter Island / by Kay Ryan
As planned,
a long chorus
of monoliths
had replaced
the forest
DPF / Clover
For many prayers for Florida, so that they can return to their music and flowers. From American Poetics in the 21st Century, edited by Claudia Rankine and Lisa Sewell.
from Year Zero / by Joshua Clover
Year Zero the mistakes have yet to be invented and music — well it comes down to inventing flowers.
DPF / Tate
For every day is a good day for Tate, from The Eternal Ones of the Dream.
from Quabbin Reservoir / by James Tate
I thought I heard a lute being played, high up,
in the birch trees, or a faun speaking French
with a Brooklyn accent. A snowy owl watched me
with half-closed eyes.
DPF / Tate
For October-like gatherings, from The Eternal Ones of the Dream.
from Hotel of the Golden Dawn / by James Tate
It was clear to us that the real owners
of the hotel were spiders. They were everywhere
but you had to look carefully. They had ingenious
ways of disguising themselves, except for the
clerk at the check-in desk.
DPF / Forché
For journeys of all kinds, from Poetry, October 2016.
from The Boatman / by Carolyn Forché
You tell me are a poet. If so, our destination is the same.
I find myself now the boatman, driving a taxi at the end of the world.
I will see that you arrive safely, my friend, I will get you there.
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 