Another Day, Another Poem: Lent continues ...

Dang - I tried to upload yesterday's poem via Kindle, but was thwarted. Here is it, from The Writer's Almanac, and read by Garrison Keillor:

At Twenty-Three Weeks She Can No Longer See Anything South of Her Belly by Thom Ward | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

Linebreak :: Original Poetry, Updated Weekly

Linebreak :: Original Poetry, Updated Weekly

Today's poem is by Michelle Chan Brown, an appears on Linebreak.

Here's an excerpt:

Mar 6, 2012

Shipwreck

Written by Michelle Chan Brown

Read by Stephanie Rogers

What we heard about thirst was true.
Everywhere, water. Everywhere, salt.
And we drank it. We learned to love
our crumpling bones. Each sunspot
on our skin deserved a christening.
Distance gifted the world a shimmer.
Time passed, perhaps. We grew wolfish...



To read the rest, or to have it read to you, visit Linebreak. You might also subscribe, and in so doing, receive a poem every Tuesday in your email box.

Poetically yours,
R

Lent, Day Eleven - and Another Poem

Again, from Poets.org:

To W.C.W. M.D.
by Alfred Kreymborg
There has been Another death. This time I bring it to you. You are kind, Brutal, You know How to lower Bodies. I ask only That the rope Isn't silk, (Silk doesn't break) Nor thread, (Thread does.) If it lifts And lowers Common things, It will do.

Yesterday's poem~ Lent, Day Ten

Poets.org

Art Class
by James Galvin
Let us begin with a simple line, Drawn as a child would draw it, To indicate the horizon, More real than the real horizon, Which is less than line, Which is visible abstraction, a ratio. The line ravishes the page with implications Of white earth, white sky! The horizon moves as we move, Making us feel central. But the horizon is an empty shell— Strange radius whose center is peripheral. As the horizon draws us on, withdrawing, The line draws us in, Requiring further lines, Engendering curves, verticals, diagonals, Urging shades, shapes, figures… What should we place, in all good faith, On the horizon? A stone? An empty chair? A submarine? Take your time. Take it easy. The horizon will not stop abstracting us.

Sky over Puget Sound

Sky over Puget Sound, originally uploaded by salmonbear7.

Just a shot from today's sunset~

Alstroemeria

Alstroemeria, originally uploaded by salmonbear7.

Just a little photo of my birthday flowers ...

In Art Rowanberry's Barn by Wendell Berry | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

This is the poem for today, read on the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor. I love that little five minute bite of time. Interesting information about people born on this day, and a satisfying slice of poetry to finish.


In Art Rowanberry's Barn by Wendell Berry | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor

In Art Rowanberry's Barn

by Wendell Berry

In Art Rowanberry's barn, when Art's death
had become quietly a fact among
the other facts, Andy Catlett found
a jacket made of the top half
of a pair of coveralls after
the legs wore out, for Art
never wasted anything.
Andy found a careful box made
of woodscraps with a strap
for a handle; it contained
a handful of small nails
wrapped in a piece of newspaper,
several large nails, several
rusty bolts with nuts and washers,
some old harness buckles
and rings, rusty but usable,
several small metal boxes, empty,
and three hickory nuts
hollowed out by mice.
And all of these things Andy
put back where they had been,
for time and the world and other people
to dispense with as they might,
but not by him to be disprized.
This long putting away
of things maybe useful was not all
of Art's care-taking; he cared
for creatures also, every day
leaving his tracks in dust, mud,
or snow as he went about
looking after his stock, or gave
strength to lighten a neighbor's work.
Andy found a bridle made
of several lengths of baling twine
knotted to a rusty bit,
an old set of chain harness,
four horseshoes of different sizes,
and three hammerstones picked up
from the opened furrow on days
now as perfectly forgotten
as the days when they were lost.
He found a good farrier's knife,
an awl, a key to a lock
that would no longer open.

Lent, day 8

Today was my birthday.  I didn't read to my Pilates class today, but did play a recording of Garrison Keillor reading the following poem (which I've always loved):

This poem, and more, can be found at Poets.org - one of my favorite sites~

A Blessing
by James Wright
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass. And the eyes of those two Indian ponies Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the willows To welcome my friend and me. We step over the barbed wire into the pasture Where they have been grazing all day, alone. They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness That we have come. They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more, They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, For she has walked over to me And nuzzled my left hand. She is black and white, Her mane falls wild on her forehead, And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist. Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom.

NPR, and a Poem a Day

http://www.npr.org/2011/12/26/143853118/a-poem-a-day-portable-peaceful-and-perfect

I love NPR, and this is another good link to check out.  Imagine - reading a poem every morning, no matter the fullness of the day.  Just a minute or two, that's all.  Can you spare it?

Leap Day - leapt over

Yikes!  I missed posting yesterday.  But, no worries.  I'll share yesterday's poem, and another one for today in another post. 

Yesterday was a day of poetry, from 9 am to almost 6 pm.  Good friends (poets Annette Spaulding-Convy and Kelli Russell Agodon), good food, and though-provoking poetry exercises.  It was a day well-spent.  Photos soon!

Meanwhile, here is yesterday's shared poem, from Poets.org:

Leap Year Poem
by Mother Goose
Thirty days hath September, April, June and November. All the rest have thirty-one, Excepting February alone, And that has twenty-eight days clear And twenty-nine in each leap year.