#poem-a-day

[aaknopf]

On this day of love, let’s have a fresh poem, a chance at intimacy. Here’s one by Vincent Katz, from his forthcoming collection, Daffodil.

The moon embraced by mist 

The moon embraced by mist Hovers on a wet backdrop The hours’ arbitrary measure Of a space we both inhabit

. . .

More on this book and author: 

Browse other books by Vincent Katz and preorder Daffodil.

Hear Vincent Katz and Claire Millikin read their poetry at Grolier Poetry Book Shop in Cambridge, MA on April 24 at 7:00 PM. You can register here for the in-person event or register here to tune in virtually via Zoom. Please check Vincent Katz's author page for more information about other upcoming readings and events. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

More of Vincent Katz’s new work will be featured this April, when we send daily poems throughout the month in celebration of National Poetry Month. Please pass along this sign up link to share the Knopf Poetry newsletter with friends in anticipation of our poem-a-day selections, coming to your inbox starting on April 1.

[slateblueearthbelow]

Acceptance

by Kerry Hardie

Yesterday it was still January and I drove home and the roads were wet and the fields were wet and a palette knife

had spread a slab of dark blue forestry across the hill. A splashed white van appeared from a side road then turned off and I drove on into the drab morning

which was mudded and plain and there was a kind of weary happiness that nothing was trying to be anything much and nothing was being suggested. I don’t know how else to explain

the calm of this grey wetness with hardly a glimmer of light or life, only my car tyres swishing the lying water, and the crows balanced and rocking on the windy lines.

[pinetree-poet]

NOVEMBER POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE: DAY 2

From the blog, Poetic Asides, Robert Lee Brewer posts:

Write a disguise poem.  Of course, we just celebrated Halloween in these parts, which involved a lot of disguises; but people also disguise their voices and/or their true natures every day.  They may disguise their intentions.  And some poems even disguise their true meanings.  So play with disguises today.

And from Charlotte Rains Dixon's daily prompts for the month, today's is:

Your favorite tree.

Mix 'em, match 'em, pick one - but whatever you choose, remember:

These prompts are springboards to creativity. 

Use them to expand your possibilities, not limit them.

𝖌

<))><

[tinkercreek]

The warble of melting snow is the river

is the bleat of the sandhill crane is the hush of the autonomous mind        of the flame above the canyon is the cow drinking water from mud          is the cow and the word cow is the deckled face in the overhang of stone is the bone weathered into wood is the wood weathered to stone is the sentence is the moment that longs to be the sentence hidden in a sentence is the legislated road         is the grass is the grass is the nerve that runs from socket to wrist is the common knowledge of aperture and speed is the hole to be yawned into         its origin         the stone that says the impulse of water         is the moss against is the growing in spite of

by Emily Lee Luan

Originally published in Poem-a-Day on October 18, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets

Hear the poet read this poem aloud here

[gtunesmiff]

2024 APRIL POEM-A-DAY CHALLENGE: DAY 22 ~ SIMPLY WHERE WE ARE

SIMPLY WHERE WE ARE ©2024 G. Smith (BMI) ================== Underneath the pavement, Underneath the steel, Underneath the ever-present, Ever-turning wheels.

Underneath the plastic, Underneath the fumes, Underneath the ever-present, Everlasting gloom and doom.

Underneath the concrete, Underneath the grass, Underneath the gravel, And the artificial grass.

Underneath the heavens, Underneath the stars, Underneath the sun and moon, Is simply where we are. Underneath the sun and moon, Is simply where we are.

[agirlnamedbone]

pub. by Academy of American Poets

[firefly464]

Is this anything

[authenticity2025]

[inhernature]

(via Sahar Muradi: "All I can see is nothing")

All I can see is nothing

by Sahar Muradi

If nothing that can be seen can either be God or represent Him to us as He is, then to find God we must pass beyond everything that can be seen and enter into darkness. Since nothing that can be heard is God, to find Him we must enter into silence. —Thomas Merton, from “New Seeds of Contemplation,” 1961

I swear to God, mom, I am exhausted, but praise be to God in all circumstances. —writing, translated from the Arabic, on the Al-Shifa Hospital walls, April 2024

All I can see is nothing Fields of

Hollow The O that escapes

A pasture of Mouths

An apartment building Of locked jaws

The silent weeping Of rocks

I hear nothing In the bags of soft limbs sighing

Milk teeth Sharpening a father’s heart

The cone hat on the small head Singing to plumes

Iftar in the tents Flapping pages off the moon

But Your name over and over On the hospital walls

But Your name stilling The fire that does not cease

But Your name everywhere Everything all at once

I see nothing From this distance

This deepest night This longest darkness

Fumble at fajr To loosen my gasps

I repeat Your name Over and over

Then bow to Your wisdom To the terror of Your liberation

O that I may not see anything More

Copyright © 2024 by Sahar Muradi. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on December 31, 2024, by the Academy of American Poets.

[loveelizabeths]

love elizabeth s.

[twistedlybroken]

[aaknopf]

Leila Mottley was regularly writing and performing poetry even before she published her novel Nightcrawling at only nineteen, in 2022; today we get an advance peek into her forthcoming first collection, woke up no light. Divided into hoods—sections on Girlhood, Neighborhood, Falsehood, and Womanhood—the poems instruct us, as here, in the art of noticing, speaking boldly, and feeling deeply.

what to do when you see a Black woman cry 

stop. hum a little / just for some sound / just for a way to fill us up it is streetlamp time / all moon-cheeked black girls are mourning / a wailing kind of undoing don’t mistake this as a tragedy / it is sacred don’t mistake this as a glorious pain / we hurt.

don’t tell me it will be alright. make me a gourmet meal and don’t expect me to do the dishes after don’t try to hug me without asking first if i slept last night / if i need some jasmine tea / and a bath in a tub deep enough to fit my grief

and if i say i want a hug don’t touch my hair while you do it / don’t twist my braids around your fingers or tell me my fro is matted in the back from banging my head on the wall of so many askings

you think we are sobbing for the men, but we are praying for the men / their favorite sweat-soaked t-shirts we are screeching for our thighs for our throats / and our teeth-chipping / for the terror and the ceremony / and the unending always of this sky

so if i let you see a tear drip / if i let you see my teeth chatter know you are witnessing a miracle know you are not entitled to my face crack / head shake / sob but i do not cry in front of just anyone so stop. hum a little / just for some sound / just to fill me up

More on this book and author: 

Learn more about woke up no light by Leila Mottley.

Browse other books by Leila Mottley and follow her on Instagram @leilamottley.

Click here to read Leila Mottley's curated list of recommended books about the San Francisco Bay Area. 

Leila Mottley will be in Brooklyn for a Poetry Night reading and conversation with Tatiana Johnson-Boria at Books Are Magic (Montague Street location) on April 24, 2024 at 7:00 PM. The event will also be livestreamed for free on Youtube. 

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[slateblueearthbelow]

[midnightmindcave]

Today’s poem-a-day from the Academy of American Poets should be shared widely:

“When it Really is Just the Wind, and Not a Furious Vexation” by Kyle Tran Myhre

[tinkercreek]

If Night You Were a City

I would return to you in a jacket of gold leaves  drawn tight against the city wind  whipping around corners through button holes over  cobbled streets park lanes  cordoned-off barbarian herds  of steel and glass and concrete ground zero for crowds  of absence. We’d lift off beyond the brick  toward choked stars, moons outshined by neon  and by anxious day, moons perched on dark spires  golden lions we’d wrap our naïve wings around  to embrace the artifice of it all  and the reality: the heat here is unbearable  and I miss the need to be warm, that need to look  forward to nights alone with you with no morning on our minds  no time  no need to claw through  restaurants packed with bridge and tunnel drunk  on the filth and the beauty.  For here there is no comparison  no autumn as autumn no snow to justify  a hot drink or a fat meal the fish is delicious  and the beer even better but not the same.  Some say the grass is greener as if it’s law  and more that I try to recreate  metropolis each time a baobab drops a beetle  to flee every time winter floods the sand  to mute the night— boats eclipsing the mainland sprawl  trading with another language transformed before my ears:  tell me how you lived your dream and I will tell you who you are  every night, every single night and with a wingspan  I resurrect in a cold sweat  and off in the distance  there are drums drums beating the island

Adam Wiedewitsch for Jan. 1, 2024 Poem-a-Day

listen to Adam read "If Night You Were a City" on the Academy of American Poets website

[gtunesmiff]

2023 NOVERMBER POEM-A-DAY CHAPBOOK CHALLENGE: DAY 28 ~ SOME DAYS

SOME DAYS © 2023 G. Smith (BMI) ================== Some days a victory! Some days – defeat… Some days excited; Some days – just beat. Some days a lion, Some days – the meat Some days a victory! Some days – defeat.

Some days you seize, Some days you survive. Each day is different, Part of being alive. Some fly by quickly, Some, a long nine to five. Some days you seize, Some days you survive.

Some are a battle, Some are a dance. Each one is different, You just take your chance. A walk in the park, A long rush-hour drive. Some days you seize, Some days you survive.

Some days a victory! Some days – defeat… Some days excited; Some days – just beat. Some days a lion, Some days – the meat Some days a victory! Some days – defeat.

Some days you fumble, And some days you thrive, Some days you stumble, And bumble and strive, To climb high on the mountain, And not take a dive. Some days you seize, Some days you survive.

Some days you push, Some days you pull. Some days are lonely, Some days are full, Some days are family, Some just husbands and wives. Some days you seize, Some days you survive.

Some days a victory! Some days – defeat… Some days excited; Some days – just beat. Some days a lion, Some days – the meat Some days a victory! Some days – defeat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A 2-fer-Tuesday prompt:

SEIZE THE DAY

SURVIVE THE DAY