Poem of the day: Without Discussion

Samuel Amadon

Without Discussion

What people said, what left the table dark.
None stayed inside the house, nor close around.
Each direction its direction bound.
Like when you leave the arcing thing to arc.
Like papers gather papers in the park.
We note the wind is what can't hold the ground.
While hearing transfer stations fill with sound.
And let the city alter a remark
a little further from explaining what
was meant. A creak again or just a creak
right then. Like leaning forward on the cart.
A structure falls to stay its every strut.
I'd like to speak. I said I'd like to speak.
And someone sighs, they broke the silent part.

Concerto do dia: Moita Fest

Poem of the day: The Moment

Marie Howe

The Moment

Oh, the coming-out-of-nowhere moment

when, nothing

happens

no what-have-I-to-do-today-list


maybe half a moment

the rush of traffic stops.

The whir of I should be, I should be, I should be

slows to silence,

the white cotton curtains hanging still.

Poem of the day: Who goes with Fergus?

W. B. Yeats

Who goes with Fergus?

Who will go drive with Fergus now,
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade,
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man, lift up your russet brow,
And lift your tender eyelids, maid,
And brood on hopes and fear no more.

And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery;
For Fergus rules the brazen cars,
And rules the shadows of the wood,
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.

Poem of the day: The Coming of War: Actæon

Ezra Pound

The Coming of War: Actæon

An image of Lethe,
and the fields
Full of faint light
but golden,
Gray cliffs,
and beneath them
A sea
Harsher than granite,
unstill, never ceasing;

High forms
with the movement of gods,
Perilous aspect;
And one said:
"This is Actæon."
Actaeon of golden greaves!

Over fair meadows,
Over the cool face of that field,
Unstill, ever moving,
Host of an ancient people,
The silent cortège.

Poem of the day: The Uses of Poetry

William Carlos Williams

The Uses of Poetry

I've fond anticipation of a day
O'erfilled with pure diversion presently,
For I must read a lady poesy
The while we glide by many a leafy bay,

Hid deep in rushes, where at random play
The glossy black winged May-flies, or whence flee
Hush-throated nestlings in alarm,
Whom we have idly frighted with our boat's long sway.

For, lest o'ersaddened by such woes as spring
To rural peace from our meek onward trend,
What else more fit? We'll draw the latch-string

And close the door of sense; then satiate wend,
On poesy's transforming giant wing,
To worlds afar whose fruits all anguish mend.

Poem of the day: Exoskeletal Gesture

Eric Baus

Exoskeletal Gesture

Venom erupted from the trees when the vital system of the brook reset its serum stem.

Can suspended snakes compose a more careless music? Do two detached wings count as an

exoskeletal gesture? A hiss is the sound the sky would make if these leaves revived their flight.