November 13, 2018 | Filed Under Poem for Hela | Comments Off on Daily Poem: A History of Mourning ~ Robert Bly
A History of Mourning
~ Robert Bly
It’s odd that evening is so speckled with grief.
Birds start singing when the branch reddens.
But we write our poems when the sun goes down.
Our ancestors knew how to cry at death; but they
Had enough to do finding big stones to cover
The dead, and begetting new souls to replace them.
We slept on the limestone plains, and woke
Night after night, tracing the route the dead take
Through holes in limestone and on into the stars.
Some hands outlined with blown powder
On the walls of the cave have missing fingers.
We drew maps of the night sky in the dust.
How slowly it all went! One day a woman wept
When she saw a bone reddened with ochre.
A thousand years later, we put a bead in a grave.
Some graves stand among woods. We still don’t
Understand why a pine coffin is so beautiful.
We are still brooding over why the sun rises.
November 12, 2018 | Filed Under Poem for Hela | Comments Off on Daily Poem: November for Beginners ~ Rita Dove
November for Beginners
~ Rita Dove
Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.
So we wait, breeding
mood, making music
of decline. We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.
We ache in secret,
memorizing
a gloomy line
or two of German.
When spring comes
we promise to act
the fool. Pour,
rain! Sail, wind,
with your cargo of zithers!
November 2, 2018 | Filed Under Poem for Hela | Comments Off on Daily Poem: Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold ~ William Shakespeare
Sonnet 73: That time of year thou mayst in me behold
~ William Shakespeare
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
November 1, 2018 | Filed Under Poem for Hela | Comments Off on Daily Poem: Truth be Told, It’s Inevitable ~ Kara Knickerbocker
Truth be Told, It’s Inevitable
~ Kara Knickerbocker
We will drift apart
to find sleep
in different rooms
with a fan humming
against your ear,
a waning sun
still holding me.
