April 22: "November Morning," Diane Glancy, "April Afternoon"

Billy Collins admires ducks . . .

November Morning

by:  Billy Collins

My appearance on the shore

has surprised this pair of wood ducks--

the wild-haired male, the smooth-headed hen.

They've left the cover of reeds

to begin their day together,

and I have an afternoon flight to Milwaukee.

It has been a day seeped in poetry.  The Headline Poet of the Great Lakes Poetry Festival, Diane Glancy, read this evening at the library, and she was (no surprise) amazing.

Prior to the reading, I gave Diane a tour of the library and then took her to dinner with a group of poet friends.  Lively conversation.  Mushroom risotto.  Lots of laughter.

Tomorrow morning, like Billy Collins, Diane has a flight home (not to Milwaukee), and the rest of us wood ducks will go about our day together in the reeds of life.

Saint Marty is still a little drunk . . . on words.

April Afternoon

by:  Martin Achatz

The poet stands on the roof,

spreads her arms

as if to take flight,

calls out, "I'm never leaving!"

just as she blossoms

feathers and wings

off into the empty 

page of the day.

September 13: Diane Glancy, "Indian Summer," Warm-to-Hot

Indian Summer

by:  Diane Glancy

There’s a farm auction up the road.

Wind has its bid in for the leaves.

Already bugs flurry the headlights

between cornfields at night.

If this world were permanent,

I could dance full as the squaw dress

on the clothesline.

I would not see winter

in the square of white yard-light on the wall.

But something tugs at me.

The world is at a loss and I am part of it

migrating daily.

Everything is up for grabs

like a box of farm tools broken open.

I hear the spirits often in the garden

and along the shore of corn.

I know this place is not mine.

I hear them up the road again.

This world is a horizon, an open sea.

Behind the house, the white iceberg of the barn.

__________________________

It has been a beautiful week in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.  It doesn't feel like mid-September.  More like mid-August.  Yes, the leaves are changing color, but the air is warm-to-hot, and the sun has been holding on in the sky until close to 9 p.m.

It's difficult to let go of summer.  This week is making it even more difficult. 

Saint Marty is going for a walk now.

From my backyard