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A Poem for a Thursday #24

Photo by Nick Chung on Unsplash
Ted Kooser is "widely praised for his plainspoken style, his gift for metaphor, and his quiet discoveries of beauty in ordinary things." He served as a Poet Laureate and is spoken of as the voice of small-town America. His style is simple and natural.

Today, from a distance, I saw you
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only 
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up 
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer's retina
as he stood in the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.

After Years
Ted Kooser

Read more poems at Brona's Books.

Spring Fever

It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine.  
                                                      The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett




Blue skies.

Puffy clouds.

Robins hopping around the yard.

Warm breezes.

Cool winds.

The smell of the earth.

Longer days.

Green things starting to push their way above the ground and unfurl.

The first sight of a crocus.

And then a daffodil.

Being able to go outside with just a jacket.

Regretting that decision when the breeze picks up.

Frosty mornings that turn into warm afternoons.

The green haze of leaves starting to emerge on the trees.


A bit of joy.


A Poem for a Thursday #23

Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

Elizabeth Bishop was born in 1911 in Worcester, Massachusetts (about 30 miles from me) and grew up there and in Novia Scotia. She was a respected poet in her lifetime but has come to more and more prominence in the years since her death. She only published 101 poems because she was a perfectionist and spent a long time refining each poem. Her poems are "marked by precise descriptions of the physical world and an air of poetic serenity, but her underlying themes include the struggle to find a sense of belonging, and the human experiences of grief and longing." Those themes come through clearly in the poem for today.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident 
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like ( Write it!) like disaster. 

One Art 
Elizabeth Bishop

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