DPF / Mark

For you and for beloved Sabrina and Beatrice on the most wished-to-be-beloved of days, from Tsim Tsum.

from Where Babies Come From / by Sabrina Orah Mark

‘Where,’ asked Beatrice, ‘do babies come from?’ Walter B. was hanging a painting in the crawl space. It was a painting of the babies. ‘Basically,’ said Walter B., ‘babies come from rubbing babies together. They rub and they rub. Once, I heard them rubbing.’ ‘Are you sure those are the babies where babies come from?’ asked Beatrice. She was staring at the painting. It was a painting of the babies. ‘They seem,’ said Beatrice, ‘to be different babies. Walter B. tilted his head. A door slammed. They stood for a long time and examined the painting. Beatrice was right. These were not the same babies. These were different babies. Some of these babies carried twine….

DPF / Meinke

For a misnomer of a love poem, from Poetry 180, edited by Billy Collins.

from Love Poem / by Peter Meinke

When I was a man sharp as a polished axe in the polleny
      orchard
I loved a woman whose perfume swayed in the air, turning
      the modest flowers scarlet and loose
till the jonquils opened their throats and cackled out loud

DPF / McPherson

For John Ashbery, too, one of our many missing voices who would have added thoughtful input to the international overflow of powerful emotion occurring on all sides of the political free-for-all, from poetryfoundation.org.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/145182/sitting-on-a-desk-together-at-smu-1982

from Sitting on a Desk Together at SMU, 1982 / by Sandra McPherson

There’s a bird crowd beachcombing.
Humans love
going to fragments —
it’s Greek.

 

DPF / King

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!’

DPF / Holmes

Dear Poetry Followers, this one’s for Ms. Dickinson, from THE MS OF MY KIN.

from 1862.29 / by Janet Holmes

          who heard
                the Birds

          knew

    No one could
              perfect
that

                   Eden —

DPF / Ruefle

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.