Sunday, October 27, 2019

by Ted Kooser
We go out of our way to get home,
getting lost in a rack of old clothing,
fainting in stairwells,
our pulses fluttering like moths.
We will always be
leaving our loves like old stoves
in abandoned apartments. Early in life
there are signals of how it will be—
we throw up the window one spring
and the window weights break from their ropes
and fall deep in the wall.

"Advice" from Flying at Night: Poems 1965-1985 by Ted Kooser

Thursday, October 24, 2019

Seeing for a Moment
By Denise Levertov
I thought I was growing wings—
it was a cocoon.

I thought, now is the time to step   
into the fire—
it was deep water.

Eschatology is a word I learned
as a child: the study of Last Things;

facing my mirror—no longer young,
       the news—always of death,
       the dogs—rising from sleep and clamoring   
            and howling, howling,

I see for a moment   
that's not it: it is   
the First Things.

Word after word
floats through the glass.   
Towards me.
"Seeing for a Moment" from Oblique Prayers, by Denise Levertov

Monday, October 21, 2019

Mind Wanting More, by Holly J. Hughes 
Only a beige slat of sun
above the horizon, like a shade
pulled not quite down. Otherwise,
clouds. Sea rippled here and
there. Birds reluctant to fly.
The mind wants a shaft of sun to
stir the grey porridge of clouds,
an osprey to stitch sea to sky
with its barred wings, some dramatic
music: a symphony, perhaps
a Chinese gong.

But the mind always
wants more than it has—
one more bright day of sun,
one more clear night in bed
with the moon; one more hour
to get the words right; one
more chance for the heart in hiding
to emerge from its thicket
in dried grasses—as if this quiet day
with its tentative light weren't enough,
as if joy weren't strewn all around.

Holly J. Hughes, from Hold Fast (Empty Bowl Press, 2019)

Tuesday, October 1, 2019

Champion the Enemy’s Need
by Kim Stafford
Ask about your enemy's wounds and scars.
Seek his hidden cause of trouble.
Feed your enemy's children.
Learn their word for home.
Repair their well.
Learn their sorrow's history.
Trace their lineage of the good.
Ask them for a song.
Make tea. Break bread.

Kim Stafford, from Wild Honey, Tough Salt