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the poet's billow

~ a resource for moving poetry

Tag Archives: nature

Fragments for the End of the Year

31 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by thepoetsbillow in Blog

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

2012, 2013, aviation, climate, Jennifer, literature, nature, new year, new years, news, online journal, poem, Poet, Poetry, poets, reading, science, Sweeney, transportation, wedding, writers, Writing

Fragments for the End of the Year

by Jennifer K. Sweeney

On average, odd years have been the best for me.

I’m at a point where everyone I meet looks like a version
of someone I already know.

Without fail, fall makes me nostalgic for things I’ve never experienced.

The sky is molting. I don’t know
if this is global warming or if the atmosphere is reconfiguring
itself to accommodate all the new bright suffering.

I am struck by an overwhelming need to go to Iceland.

Despite all awful variables, we are still full of ideas
as possible as unsexed fruit.

I was terribly sorry to be the one to explain to the first graders
the connection between the sunset and pollution.

On Venus you and I are not even a year old.

Then there were two skies.
The one we fly through and the one
we bury ourselves in.

I appreciate my wide beveled spatula which fulfills
the moment I realized I would grow up and own such things.

I am glad I do not yet want sexy bathroom accessories.
Such things.

In the story we were together every time.

On his wedding day, the stone in his chest
not fully melted but enough.

Sometimes I feel like there are birds flying out of me.

 

Taken from: http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/fragments%20for%20the%20end%20of%20the%20year

A Winter Poem

24 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by thepoetsbillow in Blog

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

christmas, December, entertainment, light, literature, nature, poem, Poet, Poetry, poets, reading, reading poetry, robyn sarah, winter, writers, writersalmanac, Writing

Bounty

by Robyn Sarah

Make much of something small.
The pouring-out of tea,
a drying flower’s shadow on the wall
from last week’s sad bouquet.
A fact: it isn’t summer any more.

Say that December sun
is pitiless, but crystalline
and strikes like a bell.
Say it plays colours like a glockenspiel.
It shows the dust as well,

the elemental sediment
your broom has missed,
and lights each grain of sugar spilled
upon the tabletop, beside
pistachio shells, peel of a clementine.

Slippers and morning papers on the floor,
and wafts of iron heat from rumbling radiators,
can this be all? No, look — here comes the cat,
with one ear inside out.
Make much of something small.

 

Taken From http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/

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