Sunday Poetry Fix

The Day You Were The Whole World By John Isbell As you worked in the gar­den, You expand­ed to become the entire plan­et. My breath stopped. You touched the earth around the cro­cus­es From the oth­er side of the world. The crocuses…

Poetry Fix

Wedding –Alice Oswald from The Thing in the Gap Stone Stile From time to time our love is like a sail and when the sail begins to alter­nate from tack to tack, it’s like a swal­low­tail and when the swal­low flies it’s…

Two Poems

a song in the front yard by Gwen­dolyn Brooks I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life. I want a peek at the back Where it’s rough and untend­ed and hun­gry weed grows. A girl gets sick of a rose. I want to go…

Some Glad Morning

Some Glad Morn­ing –Joyce Sut­phen from Nam­ing the Stars One day, some­thing very old hap­pened again. The green came back to the branch­es, set­tling like leafy birds on the high­est twigs; the ground broke open as dark as cof­fee beans. The clouds took up their posi­tions in the…

Poem: Peonies

Peonies –Mary Oliv­er This morn­ing the green fists of the peonies are get­ting ready     to break my heart       as the sun ris­es,         as the sun strokes them with his old, but­tery fin­gers and they open–     pools of lace,       white and pink–         and all day the black…

Poem: Marengo

Maren­go –Mary Oliv­er from New and Select­ed Poems Out of the sump rise the marigolds. From the rim of the marsh, muslin with mos­qui­toes, ris­es the egret, in his cloud-cloth. Through the soft rain, like mist, and mica, the with­ered acres of…

Poem: Thai Demon

Thai Demon –John Isbell The Thai demon on my book­shelf Is engaged in the project Of for­get­ting as much as it can. This is a labo­ri­ous and piece­meal process: Cen­turies of activ­i­ty in Thai­land Seem less rel­e­vant now To an unhonored lump…

Poem: I Have Stumbled Into A Meadow

I Have Stum­bled Into A Mead­ow By John Isbell I have stum­bled into a mead­ow. There is a pro­fu­sion of flow­ers on every side: Lilacs, cro­cus­es, tulips, daf­fodils, iris­es. Sub­lime chaos. The painter threw his palette in the air. Heady bees drift…

Poem: Some Clouds

Some Clouds –Steve Kow­it from The Dumb­bell Neb­u­la Now that I’ve unplugged the phone no one can reach me– At least for this one after­noon they will have to get by with­out my advice or opin­ion. Now nobody else is going to call…

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