Poem of the Day July 10
The Eternal City
by Kathleen Graber
The attic fan rattles in its hammered tin house — as seemingly ceaseless
as the body’s unquiet engine. Today something’s gone awry: the drone,
usually poised, a nearly silent arpeggio, has become a disinterested scream.
This is the third heat wave of July. Again the fire [...]
Poem of the Day. The Eternal City by ...
Poem of the Day July 10
The Eternal City
by Kathleen Graber
The attic fan rattles in its hammered tin house — as seemingly ceaseless
as the body’s unquiet engine. Today something’s gone awry: the drone,
usually poised, a nearly silent arpeggio, has become a disinterested scream.
This is the third heat wave of July. Again the fire [...]
Poem of the Day. The Oven Bird by Rob...
Poem of the Day July 9
The Oven Bird
by Robert Frost
There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past
When pear and cherry bloom went down in sho [...]
Poem of the Day. Epithalamion by Gera...
Poem of the Day July 8
Epithalamion
by Gerard Manley Hopkins
Hark, hearer, hear what I do; lend a thought now, make believe
We are leafwhelmed somewhere with the hood
Of some branchy bunchy bushybowered wood,
Southern dene or Lancashire clough or Devon cleave,
That leans along the loins of hills, where a candycoloured, where a gluegold-brown
[...]
Poem of the Day. The Flaw by Molly P...
Poem of the Day July 7
The Flaw
by Molly Peacock
The best thing about a hand-made pattern
is the flaw.
Sooner or later in a hand-loomed rug,
among the squares and flattened triangles,
a little red nub might soar above a blue field,
or a purple cross might sneak in between
the neat ochre teeth of the border.
The flaw we live by, the wrong colo [...]
Poem of the Day. Lines to a Movement ...
Poem of the Day July 6
Lines to a Movement in Mozart’s E-flat Symphony
by Thomas Hardy
Show me again the time
When in the Junetide’s prime
We flew by meads and mountains northerly! -
Yea, to such freshness, fairness, fulness, fineness, freeness,
Love lures life on.
Show me again the day
When from the sandy bay
We looked together upon the pest [...]
Poem of the Day. Heavy Summer Rain by...
Poem of the Day July 5
Heavy Summer Rain
by Jane Kenyon
The grasses in the field have toppled,
and in places it seems that a large, now
absent, animal must have passed the night.
The hay will right itself if the day
turns dry. I miss you steadily, painfully.
None of your blustering entrances
or exits, doors swinging wildly
on their hinges, or [...]
Poem of the Day. Cool Tombs by Carl S...
Poem of the Day July 4
Cool Tombs
by Carl Sandburg
When Abraham Lincoln was shoveled into the tombs,
he forgot the copperheads and the assassin...
in the dust, in the cool tombs.
And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men and Wall Street,
cash and collateral turned ashes...
in the dust, in the cool tombs.
Pocahontas\' bod [...]
Poem of the Day. Idyll by Siegfried ...
Poem of the Day July 3
Idyll
by Siegfried Sassoon
In the grey summer garden I shall find you
With day-break and the morning hills behind you.
There will be rain-wet roses; stir of wings;
And down the wood a thrush that wakes and sings.
Not from the past you’ll come, but from that deep
Where beauty murmurs to the soul asleep:
And I shall know [...]
Poem of the Day. Summer Song by Willi...
Poem of the Day July 2
Summer Song
by William Carlos Williams
Wanderer moon
smiling a
faintly ironical smile
at this
brilliant, dew-moistened
summer morning,—
a detached
sleepily indifferent
smile, a
wanderer’s smile,—
if I should
buy a shirt
your color and
put on a necktie
sky-blue
where would they carry me?
You can get the Lucubrations Poe [...]
Poem of the Day. On the Grasshopper a...
Poem of the Day July 1
On the Grasshopper and the Cricket
by John Keats
The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s--he takes the lead
In summer luxury,--he has never done
W [...]
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