At Poetry Daily Robert B. Shaw has a sad piece about loss –i.e. loss of his Joy of Cooking book, and more….
The Loss of the Joy of Cooking
The book is missing. Somewhere in the house,
misshelved, or at the bottom of some pile,
its columned pages keep their measurements,
ingredients, oven times, and helpful hints
beyond perusal in a fat, useless wad.
There’s a poem by Peter Makuck up at The Writer’s Almanac that I’m going to bookmark for the next time I get the flu. The narrator is drifting in and out of a feverish sleep while in front of a Bogart Festival on TV.
Shivering, you drag yourself,
as if gun-shot, to the living room,
to the old movie channel,
to a Bogart festival,
Verse Daily is a little late with a summer equinox poem by William Reichard. It’s still a good piece.
The stretch of the shadows in the evening
of the longest day of the year is immeasurable.
Reaching deep under the Bridal Veil, deep under the porch
Reaching long into the season, spilling one hundred shades