poetry

sideblog for billspreston-esq

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Poem for England’s world cup team written by their bus driver, Michael Chandler

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[dyediris]

diane seuss

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There Are Mornings

by Lisel Mueller

Even now, when the plot calls for me to turn to stone, the sun intervenes. Some mornings in summer I step outside and the sky opens and pours itself into me as if I were a saint about to die. But the plot calls for me to live, be ordinary, say nothing to anyone. Inside the house the mirrors burn when I pass.

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Let Birds By Linda Gregg

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Day of Mourning by Jill E. Stevens for her friend Jimi Ciulla

[apoemaday]

By Small and Small: Midnight to Four A.M.

by Jack Gilbert

For eleven years I have regretted it, regretted that I did not do what I wanted to do as I sat there those four hours watching her die. I wanted to crawl in among the machinery and hold her in my arms, knowing the elementary, leftover bit of her mind would dimly recognize it was me carrying her to where she was going.

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KIM ADDONIZIO

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Thanks by Victoria Chang

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Stop Me if  You’ve Heard This One Before by Kaveh Akbar

[billspreston-esq]

KATE BAER

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In a Dream by Anna Akhmatova

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the undertaking by Louise Glück

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Gabrielle Calvocoressi, “No Poems Today,” in The New Economy

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Postcard from Gone — Leila Chatti

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— Stolen Moments, Kim Addonizio