Monthly Archives: April 2019

The Rider

“The Rider” by Naomi Shihab Nye is from a group of suggested poems designated for this April 2019’s “Poem in Your Pocket Day.”  Part of National Poetry Month and sponsored by the National Academy of Poets and the League of Canadian Poets, April 18th was the day this year people were encouraged to “carry a poem, share a poem, or start your own Poem in Your Pocket Day event.”

The Rider

A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,
the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.
What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.
A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.

–Naomi Shihab Nye (1952 – )
from Fuel: Poems by Naomi Shihab Nye, 1998

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A poem for Earth Day

Pragmatics

In your story of bees,
they slowly fill an outside wall—
three stud-spaces wide, two storeys high—
in the front bay of your old farmhouse.
You first try all the poisons,

even your pickup set
to run all day, its exhaust
piped into a hole in the wall—
while you go away, hoping the fumes
will kill them. But no.

So on a winter’s icy morning
you pull the siding off
and scrape out, storey by tall storey,
thick clots of comb and honey,
clumps of stiff, chilled bees.

They had to go. No question.
But tell me again, please,
how you stood inside and breathed—
in summer’s reckless heat—
the fragrance of their work,
wild perfume of wax and flower.
Say again how you pressed your ear
tight to the wall, heard the house humming,
felt its blur of countless wings,
a fine, even tremble.

— Paulann Petersen, 1998 (born in Portland, 1942)
Oregon’s sixth Poet Laureate (serving two terms: 2010 – 2012 and 2012-2014)

Refuge

“Refuge”

by Kirah Van Sickle
Mixed media and collage on paper

 

“How Poetry Comes to Me It comes blundering over the Boulders at night…” Gary Snyder

Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout

Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows in the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.

I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in the cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.

Dawn

Rolling snow turned peach-color
the moon
left alone in the fading night
makes a soft cry in the heavens
and once more
drinks up the scattered light

–From the collection of poems The Back Country by Gary Snyder, published 1968.

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Gary Snyder (1930-) is an American award-winning poet, environmental activist, Zen Buddhist and educator (also considered one of the Beat movement poets.)

 

From COLD MOUNTAIN POEMS – The poems of Chinese
poet, Han Shan (c. 680-760) in a translation by Gary Snyder

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There’s a Naked Bug at Cold Mountain

There’s a naked bug at Cold Mountain
With a white body and a black head.
His hands hold two book-scrolls,
One the Way and one its Power.
His shack’s got no pots or oven,
He goes for a walk with his shirt and pants askew.
But he always carries the sword of wisdom:
He means to cut down senseless craving.

 

“How Poetry Comes to Me It comes blundering over the Boulders at night, it stays Frightened outside the Range of my campfire I go to meet it at the Edge of the light”
–Gary Snyder