Dailies 4/22/17 (Earth Day)- an aubade, a tornado, a fool’s song, & a prayer in spring



Andrea Cohen – Tornado 

Woman comforting an injured
dog, the caption the morning

after the tornado says, but
if you click for the bigger

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Christopher Locke – Aubade 

It was the last good thing we heard: a bus
station bird more dismal than some errant
mudsplash dried between the arches. But
its voice bathed the concrete in iight, sang

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Robert Frost – A Prayer in Spring

Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers today;
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.

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William Carlos Williams – The Fool’s Song

I tried to put a bird in a cage.
O fool that I am!
For the bird was Truth.
Sing merrily, Truth: I tried to put
Truth in a cage!

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“We boiled down the lies in another pan till they disappeared. / We washed that pan.”


(poetry diary 181 -2/17/17.) Watching re-caps of yesterday’s press conference and having a nice, gentle fantasy about feeding the President & his administration serum of the sort that Nye writes about.  A calming poem. 

Truth Serum
Naomi Shihab Nye 
We made it from the ground-up corn in the old back pasture.
Pinched a scent of night jasmine billowing off the fence,
popped it right in.
That frog song wanting nothing but echo?
We used that.

Dailies 1/30/17: the history of running, “the flea,” a mother’s teachings, & truth going through a leaky funnel



The History of Running – Elizabeth Langemak


The history of running is mostly away,

not chasing but chased, crashing

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What She Taught Me – Marjorie Saiser

She taught me linking verbs, predicate nouns,
long division, have a Kleenex ready, an apple
a day. She taught me three-quarter time, Greenwich

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Beginners – Michael Klein


Truth went through a leaky funnel starting in late 1963

that blade-lit afternoon Gary Orrin laughed at Kennedy’s murder

bleeding through the static of P.S. 41’s cheap PA. There’s Greenwich Village—

a drowsy dandelion—I called it once—and there

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La Pulga – Esteban Rodríguez

Sunday morning strolls along the frontage road
like a censer-swinging priest, scrapes its sunlight
against the corroded chainlink fence, between
the lines of traffic overflowing from the entrance,

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Dailies 11/22/16: Dutch Elms, the loss of friends, a satire of several different famous poems, + a poem that “wants to comprehend how one might give and receive with grace.”



Dutch Elm – Stanley Plumly 


I miss the elms, their “crowns of airy dreams,”
as Virgil calls them, their towering cathedral branching
spread into a ceiling above the lonely sidewalks of Ohio
where the first elm deaths were reported in America

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Prufrock’s Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Red Wheelbarrow Glazed with Rain beside White Chickens – A.M. Juster


Let us go then, you and I,

As the stench spreads out around the sty

Like a drumstick decomposing on a table.

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Rendition – Katrina Roberts

If “truth is a fire,” as Klimt scrawled on a sketch for his
painting Nuda Veritas, “and to speak truth means to shine and
to burn,” then I’m a spent firework, blown-open, hollow, grime-

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Oft in the Stilly Night – Thomas Moore

Oft in the stilly night

Ere Slumber’s chain has bound me,



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