Tuesday, May 26, 2015

trees

by Peter Mitchell
Originally published on Fragments of a Scroll from the Future

I have been learning A lot from trees
Being still for hundreds of years
Drinking light and water
flowing divine love
singing a poem without words

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Beads of Spring Rain

by Helen C. Acton
From The Haiku Anthology

Beads of spring rain
     slipping slowly
down the wind chimes.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Sunday, May 17, 2015

The Dance

by Kat Comer

We made a bonfire
early in the summer
that night before you left
when I didn't know if you'd return
or even send a postcard
to inform me
if destiny would lead you back
to our rocking
or turn you in a new direction.

We lit the room with our weavings
a tapestry of color and shadow
and your big hands
like a gentle bears'
threaded endlessly
along my skin
turning me to gold.

That such rocking could form us anew
turn us inside out
spin us into and beyond one another.
Surely it was the gods who were dancing
early in the summer
that night before you left.

Thursday, May 14, 2015

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Chemistry

by Kay Ryan
From her collection entitled Elephant Rocks

Words especially
are subject to
the chemistry
of death: it is
an acid bath
which dissolves
or doubles
their strength.
Sentiments
which pleased
drift down
as sediment;
iron trees
grow from filament.

Wednesday, May 6, 2015

Shadow

by Billy Collins
From his collection entitled, The Art of Drowning

The sun finally goes down like the end
of the Russian novel, and the blinding darkness
over the continent makes me realize

how tired I am of reading and writing, 
tired of watching all the dull, horse-drawn sentences
as they plough through fields of paper,

tired of being dragged on a leash of words
by an author I can never look up and see,
tired of examining the exposed spines of books,

I want to be far from the shores of language,
a boat without passengers, lost at sea,
no correspondence, no thesaurus,

not even a name painted across the bow.
Nothing but silence, the kind that falls
whenever I walk outside with a notebook
and a passing cloud darkens my page.

Friday, May 1, 2015

Listen to the Mustn'ts

by Shel Silverstein
From his collection Where the Sidewalk Ends

Listen to the MUSTN'TS, child, 
Listen to the DON'TS
Listen to the SHOULDN'TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON'TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me - 
Anything can happen, child, 
ANYTHING can be.