For cabins and bears, from A Book of Luminous Things, edited by Czeslaw Milosz.
from Destruction / by Joanne Kyger, b. 1934
He chomps up Norwegian crackers
stashed for the winter. And the bouillon, salt, pepper,
paprika, garlic, onions, potatoes.
San Francisco
DPF / Carlile
For birds and snow, from Bright Wings, An Illustrated Anthology of Poems About Birds, edited by Billy Collins, with paintings by David Allen Sibley. More about the author here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/henry-carlile#poet
from The Cardinal / by Henry Carlile b. 1934
He shocks us when he flies
like a red verb over the snow.
DPF / Rexroth
For falling leaves, from A Book of Luminous Things, An International Anthology of Poetry, edited by Czeslaw Milosz.
from Signature of All Things / by Kenneth Rexroth (1905-1982)
On the mirrored sky and forest
For a while
DPF / Moran
Another for the children of October, from our hula dancer-poet-illustrator, Edna, from the book, An Eyeball in My Garden.
http://www.scbwi.org/members-public/edna-cabcabin-moran
from Zombie Kid Blues / by Edna Cabcabin Moran
Though I borrowed a mitt
That perfectly fit,
It came off with my hand still inside.
DPF / Fleming
More silence. And, more here:
http://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/bone-silence
from Bone & Silence / by Gerald Fleming
…and at last Bone feels entitled to speak to Silence. There are prerequisites: proper depth, aridity, desiccation, ph balance, density, and a kind of confidence.
DPF / Hejinian
DPF / Olds
Another American poet, another woman writing in the 1980’s. This one’s from *my* book, The Gold Cell, from 1987. She and I couldn’t be more different as writers; however, if you look into anything deeply enough, your mind will offer up connections.
from I Go Back to May 1937 / by Sharon Olds
I want to go up to them and say Stop,
don’t do it — she’s the wrong woman,
he’s the wrong man
DPF / Kleinzahler
So many things, daily, remind me of Bartleby.
from Poem Beginning with a Fragment from Bartleby the Scrivener / by August Kleinzahler
Something about that it was the princess, not
the Pavane, that was supposed to be dead.
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 