February 28, 2019 – 5:27 pm
Days What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days? Ah, solving that question Brings the priest and the doctor In their long coats Running over the fields. 3 August, 1953 Philip Larkin, from […]
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February 21, 2019 – 11:36 am
Anemoia Not yet old enough to read, and already my daughter’s learned nostalgia by example, what to feel at a loon’s call or when passing a blue door, how the sky just before nightfall turns like a vulnerable animal showing its belly. She misses the dog who died before she was born, the town we […]
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February 18, 2019 – 9:34 pm
And the Light Already Turning I worry about Father. Do not know which way his body faces in the grave. Does he look out to the Ryan or south to Mount Currie? On the farm, only one birch, far out towards the river, shone like the edge of a galaxy. I am tired and I […]
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February 18, 2019 – 7:22 pm
Untitled Something dark and growling lives inside you. You started growing it before you were old enough to know what you were doing. So it gripped down and claimed space like a dog no one thought to love. It pissed on the walls and made itself at home and when you thought to give it […]
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February 14, 2019 – 11:27 pm
Love The middle-aged man who cannot make love to his wife with the erectile authority of yesteryear must lower his head and suck her breasts with the tenderness and acumen of Walt Whitman And if the woman has lost her breast to the surgeon and his silver knife, she must hump the man’s leg in […]
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February 10, 2019 – 11:54 pm
We Lived Happily during the War And when they bombed other people’s houses, we protested but not enough, we opposed them but not enough. I was in my bed, around my bed America was falling: invisible house by invisible house by invisible house. I took a chair outside and watched the sun. In the sixth […]
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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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February 7, 2019 – 3:15 pm
American poet Dion O’Reilly EVERYTHING THAT’S OLD Jets are the new motor homes chemtrails are the new clouds the unknown dead on an island are the calm before a storm robots are the new immigrants Roundup is the new hoe Colbert is the new Cronkite smoke is the new sky drought is the new summer […]
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