“On a Clear Day,” by Victoria Chang, homage to Agnes Martin.
… the trees//won’t tell/me. That//
Category: Poetry
Red
In the beginning there was the film…
—Stav Poleg, “Two Pictures of a Rose in the Dark”
Weir-doo
Exquisite loss: “March 3,” by Eileen Myles.
…in the day
and the
night
before. It snowed
but it was
supposed
to be larger…
For Leta: 8
“A Letter from the End of Days (Come In. Clean the House. We Have Died.)” by Malachi Black, at Poetry Daily.
… there is nothing else
to help you. There is no one here
at all.
For Leta: 7
Dara Weir’s “in the still of the night” at Poetry Daily.
no crickets, no crickets singing
For Leta: 6
“Lisburn Road,” by Michael Hofmann.
A trunk holding a suitcase holding a holdall,
The travel equivalent of the turducken…
Dark slope
A word peeked sometimes from the cave mouth
only to shuffle back,
Hooked me with the first simile
Abecedarian lipogram
Adam Bertocci reworks “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Rude good wood rued
I like poetry that rhymes and doesn’t rhyme, like today’s offering, Rebecca Foust’s “Dream of the Rood.”
Perfectly peachy poem
Rita Dove’s “Ode to My Right Knee,” verse with a slightly concealed structural constraint.
the caesura of the seventh inning stretch
“The Poets at the Ball Game,” by Reginald Harris.
Gone
Wednesday’s poem at Poetry Daily is a killer, “Things That Have Changed Since You Died:”, by Laura Kasischke.
…We
send each other mail without stamps.
Six sides
Awesome Christmas-themed sestina (sestina, that Rubik’s cube of poetic forms) by Marcy Campbell.
the bareknuckle sun
“Three Lauds,” by Kimberly Johnson, at Poetry Daily.