poetry wednesday
I loved my friend I loved my friend (S)he went away from me There’s nothing more to say The poem ends, Soft as it began- I loved my friend. -Langston Hughes Dedicated to Laurie Foley on this late March day.
poetry wednesday : the distance between desires
Distance Between Desires From the moon to the end of this poem hums the distance between desires. In troughs of night Jasmine slept, numb from the consumption of rays from the moon. Through to its end, this poem fends off desire. A toast to the heavy drum that pulls us …
poetry wednesday : beyond the limits of your longing
God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night. These are the words we dimly hear: You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me. Flare up like a flame and make big shadows …
poetry wednesday : we thought fingers in dirt meant it was our dirt.
The Tradition Jericho Brown Aster. Nasturtium. Delphinium. We thought Fingers in dirt meant it was our dirt, learning Names in heat, in elements classical Philosophers said could change us. Star Gazer. Foxglove. Summer seemed to bloom against the will Of the sun, which news reports claimed flamed hotter On this …
poetry wednesday: what is the most powerful yes you can imagine?
I have featured this poet on Poetry Wednesday many times before, and she was a keynote speaker at my very first Life is a Verb Camp. In fact, Andrea Gibson was the first person I knew I wanted to have at Camp. Her name was on a card on my office …
poetry wednesday : what is the strength of your legendary muscle, that organ of attachment?
This is a poem to read aloud. The Hearts by Robert Pinsky The legendary muscle that wants and grieves, The organ of attachment, the pump of thrills And troubles, clinging in stubborn colonies Like pulpy shore-life battened on a jetty. Slashed by the little deaths of …
poetry wednesday: sometimes I don’t know what our hearts are
Sometimes I don’t know what our hearts are by Jena Schwartz Lying naked on my chest, clean and smooth after a bath, the sky a dusky cornflower blue. “What’s in here?” Pearl asked, tapping on my breast bone. “That’s my heart,” I told her. “You can hear it beating.” She …
poetry wednesday : just a body whose heart’s still beating, a morsel.
Full Dark by Molly Fisk Tonight, inside my body, the blood races through veins, passing in its circuit a piece of chicken wire. Calling it something homely gives me all the power over the stent I’m ever going to have: thus does woman return to Eden and name the …
poetry wednesday: the truth about words in a certain order
Anybody Can Write a Poem -Bradley Paul I am arguing with an idiot online. He says anybody can write a poem. I say some people are afraid to speak. I say some people are ashamed to speak. If they said the pronoun “I” they would find themselves floating in the …
poetry wednesday : will your voice return to sing?
Poetry is the journal of a sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. ― Carl Sandburg Stop. Don’t go. You don’t have to be a poet to read poetry. You don’t have to understand poetry to read poetry. You just have to be someone who reads …
