Poem: What Is There Beyond Knowing

What Is There Beyond Know­ing –Mary Oliv­er From New and Select­ed Poems: Vol­ume Two What is there beyond know­ing that keeps call­ing to me? I can’t turn in any direc­tion but it’s there. I don’t mean the leaves’ grip and shine or even the thrush’s silk song, but the far-off fires, for exam­ple, of the stars, heav­en’s slow­ly turning […]

Poem: Morning on the Island

Morn­ing on the Island –Car­olyn Forché From The Nation 290:15, 19 April 2010 The lights across the water are the wak­ing city. The water shim­mers with imag­i­nary fish. Not far from here lie the bones of conifers washed from the sea and piled by wind. Some morn­ings I walk upon them, bone to bone, as far as the light­house. A […]

Poetry: Against Entropy

By John M. Ford The worm dri­ves heli­cal­ly through the wood And does not know the dust left in the bore Once made the table inte­gral and good; And sud­den­ly the crys­tal hits the floor. Elec­trons find their paths in sub­tle ways, A mass­less eddy in a trail of smoke; The names of lovers, light of oth­er days; Per­haps you will not miss […]

Half-full, Half-empty?

Today’s NaBloPo­Mo prompt: “Is the glass half-full or half-emp­ty?” It’s half-full, and things are get­ting bet­ter all the time.  Last night as I was sleep­ing I dreamt—marvelous error!— that I had a bee­hive here inside my heart. And the gold­en bees were mak­ing white combs and sweet hon­ey from my old fail­ures. –Anto­nio Machado

Poetry: The Blue Bowl

The Blue Bowl –Jane Keny­on From Oth­er­wise: New & Select­ed Poems Like prim­i­tives we buried the cat with his bowl. Bare-hand­ed we scraped sand and grav­el back into the hole.                                They fell with a hiss and thud on his side, on his long red fur, the white feath­ers between his toes, and his long, not to say aquiline, nose. We stood and […]

Poetry: Edna St. Vincent Millay

I want­ed to do some­thing dif­fer­ent for today’s Thing-a-Day, and I signed up to be part of Live Read­ings a while back but had­n’t record­ed any­thing yet, so I’m post­ing this is both (all three?) places. What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, and Where, and Why (Son­net XLIII) by Edna St. Vin­cent Mil­lay What lips my […]

Poetry: Michael Blumenthal

For my Sam A Mar­riage You are hold­ing up a ceil­ing with both arms. It is very heavy, but you must hold it up, or else it will fall down on you. Your arms are tired, ter­ri­bly tired, and, as the day goes on, it feels as if either your arms or the ceil­ing will soon col­lapse. But then, unex­pect­ed­ly, something […]

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