elaborate levels of emptiness

Here’s a poem by Thomas McGrath:   I don’t belong in this century—who does? In my time, summer came someplace in June— The cutbanks blazing with roses, the birds brazen, and the astonished Pastures frisking with young calves . . .                                                           That was in the country— I don’t mean another country, I mean in

the smile she would bestow

  Here’s a lovely poem by Emily Dickinson:     The Moon was but a Chin of Gold A Night or two ago — And now she turns Her perfect Face Upon the World below — Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde — Her Cheek — a Beryl hewn — Her Eye unto the Summer

Vague

This poem comes from a group of poems I wrote, imagining Magritte. It appears in my book  Reconnaissance :   Madame Magritte Ruminates on Syntax   Syntax: how he puts his world in order… how he forms images from words. Though he met me at the botanical garden in Brussels, he paints me naked, lying

Paratechnics

Art by Trivette Carreira: Time and the Railroad Track   Here’s a poem from my 2007 book  Scattered Showers in a Clear Sky: Paratechnics   Umbrella near the sun – parasol. Group of sentences expressing a complete thought – paragraph. Lines going the same direction into eternity – parallel. Saying it another way – paraphrase.

What Songs They Sang

Here’s a poem I wrote last year:   What you can’t know when you’re young   How the big girl with the baby face Turns into the woman with bags under her eyes And the fine skins lined with eyelash thin wrinkles. How you become the sandwich memory keeper Who tells your cousin’s children about

Disrupted lines

  I love the poetry  of e e cummings. I love the way he disrupts syntax, and bewitches me with his lines.  Here is a great example:   when hair falls off and eyes blur And thighs forget(when clocks whisper and night shouts)When minds shrivel and hearts grow brittler every Instant(when of a morning Memory

a flower like froth

It’s devastating.  I love this poem by Robert Frost: Design Robert Frost, 1874 – 1963 I found a dimpled spider, fat and white, On a white heal-all, holding up a moth Like a white piece of rigid satin cloth– Assorted characters of death and blight Mixed ready to begin the morning right, Like the ingredients of

The Luminescence of Longwood Gardens

I am lucky enough to have grown up in a town very close to Longwood Gardens, on the East Coast of the United States.  It’s a magnificent place created about a hundred years ago by the wealthy manufacturer Pierre DuPont. I wrote this poem about it ten years or so ago: Hymn to Longwood Gardens   How

Rush

  Verb Web Nightmare   Clamber up the stairs clumsy, rushed, feet too big, shoes too big , flopping on the stairs Clamber to the amber chamber, awkward, arms out, clumsy shabby club where we are ever seventh graders, where we simper in the chamber clatter clowns down the stairs.     <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/rush/”>Rush</a&gt;  

Thwarting my writer’s block

Here I am  , in the bakery section of Le Bon Marche in Paris.   No poem this time… I’ve been away in France for a month, and am trying to break out of my tourist mode and do some writing. So far, I am only catching up on the April prompts with some previously