– 159 – poetry Monday

Mannahatta (by Walt Whitman) I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name. Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my city is that word from of old, Because I see that…

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– 140 – poetry Monday

Morning Poem (by Billy Collins) Why do we bother with the rest of the day, the swale of the afternoon, the sudden dip into evening, then night with his notorious perfumes, his many-pointed stars? This is the best— throwing off the light covers, feet on the cold floor, and buzzing around the house on espresso—…

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– 129 – poetry Thursday

I’m reading ‘Underground Railway’ by Colston Whitehead, which is remarkable and chilling, frankly, especially in light of recent events… …will the world ever learn?   Caged birds by Maya Angelou A free bird leaps on the back of the wind    and floats downstream    till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun…

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– 91 – poetry Monday

A life in Dreams (by Jacob Sam-La Rose) There have been teeth falling loose from their sockets like a shower of petals or bones. There has been treacle; attempts to run against a gravity wound so tight tight single steps were futile, a travelling nowhere, a running on the spot, a fanged leer and a gnarled…

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