For poets of all walks of life, from a poet in his own right.
from I Have A Dream / by Martin Luther King Jr.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, ‘Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!’
For paying attention to the moment as it is given, from a poet whose hand I’ve had the pleasure of shaking, and from The Rain in Portugal.
from Bashō in Ireland / by Billy Collins
I am like the Japanese poet
who longed to be in Kyoto
even though he was already in Kyoto.
Dear Poetry Followers, this one’s for Ms. Dickinson, from THE MS OF MY KIN.
from 1862.29 / by Janet Holmes
No one could
Dear Poetry Followers, this one’s for the clock, which gets a starring role this upcoming weekend, from The Most of It.
from My Pet, My Clock / by Mary Ruefle
A clock, on the other hand and against all appearances, is a very poor way to tell time, for all it does is sit there or hang on the wall, and very seldom does it do anything of itself to remind you of time.
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