February 7, 2019 – 4:11 pm
This Morning, a Yellow Wheelbarrow I hear the chords, the deep thrum, from a yellow wheelbarrow on its side after snow in a morning garden. The light singing there, yellow on yellow, blazes, an incandescence not dependent on anything or anyone. Richard Osler, unpublished I don’t as a general rule post my own poems on […]
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October 2, 2018 – 7:42 am
What is lost is returned to me, what is far away is near me today, Whether you’re here, wherever you are, doesn’t matter today, today I am held within a honeyed dome that dampens and mingles the surging skein of sounds. I am inside and the outside enters me. Patrizia Cavalli, trans.J.D. McClatchy, from my […]
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January 23, 2018 – 9:11 pm
Final Curve When you turn the corner And run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left Langston Hughes (1902 – 1967) from Poetry for Young People Langston Hughes, Sterling Publishing Co., 2006 Langston Hughes was a celebrated black American poet who was considered a poetic innovator especially […]
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December 21, 2017 – 11:24 pm
Solstice A sly gift it is, that on the year’s shortest day, the sun stays longest in this house – extends the wand of its slow slant and distant squint farthest into the long depths of our wintry rooms – to touch with tremulous light, interior places it has not lit before. Robyn Sarah […]
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September 2, 2017 – 10:49 pm
The Cucumbers of Praxilla of Sicyon What is the best we leave behind? Certainly love and form and ourselves. Surely those. But it is the mornings that are hard to relinquish, and music and cucumbers. Rain on trees, empty piazzas in small towns flooded with sun. What we are busy with doesn’t make us groan […]
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