Dear Poetry Followers, here’s a fragment from a new book published just this month; it’s from one of our favorite Floridians, and from the book, Rift of Light.
from Complaint / by William Logan
If there are dream houses,
are there undreamed houses
full of the things we desire
or only those we deserve?
Dear Poetry Followers, with all that these days bring in near and far-flung crises, may poetry bring some small blessings to shed light where there seems to be none, from poetryfoundation.org.
from October / by Robert Frost
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
For you, dear poetry followers (dpf’s)! who have taken the time to choose to follow, I hope you will not mind me morphing this poetry space from daily to weekly and for not closing a door, but opening a new kind of window, from Selected Poems.
from 5 / by e. e. cummings
For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
For a belated day and for Dr. Williams, from Poem A Day, Volume 2, the September 22 entry.
from Waiting / by William Carlos Williams
Let us see, let us see!
What did I plan to say to her
when it should happen to me
as it has happened now?
For dogs, from Copper Nickel 25.
from It’s Not About Figuring out What We Want, But About Figuring Out What’s Worth Wanting / by John Gallaher
The other day my dog, our dog, the family dog, looked back at me
from the landing on the stairs. It’s as far up as he’s allowed to go.
For similes and sometimes feeling minuscule, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Simile at the Side of the Road / by Mark Cox
In photographs of our galaxy
it looks like someone’s just finished
stirring us with a long wooden spoon
For fairy tale and for this time of year from a favorite poem and from Poems 1962-2012.
from All Hallows / by Louise Glück
Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
sleep in their blue yoke,
the fields having been
picked clean, the sheaves
bound evenly and piled at the roadside
among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises