from Oblivion by Kevin Young:

In the field the cows consider
    oblivion, mulling

it over. They & their many
    stomachs know nothing

stays lost forever—that grass, almost
    cruel, resurrects again,

again. They know even
    drought will end

ghost white
hunter’s moon
fills the hours

haiku by Goichi Imase

the place
higher than goose
it is called the sky

7 flowers
amongst dry stalks
bare dirt

Second Crow by Matthias Göritz, translated by Mary Jo Bang:

From the balcony, sliced light
leaves behind an arm.

sand gone clear
thrush gone still


I realized (after seeing her interact with some of my tweets about it (embarrassing)) that I have yet to share the inspiration behind the #todayspoem posts.

I stole the idea from Vicki Ziegler (who was, in turn, inspired by this NPR piece) after hearing her talk about it on the Small Machine Talks podcast.

I love a daily creative ritual, especially one centered on poetry.

My daily Hi-Q project grew to include recommendations. Now that part lives on its own, thanks to Vicki.

The original poetry part has resurfaced in a different format now too. Seriously, I can’t stay away from the daily creation cadence.

Check out these poems i like.

\lev\ by J. Drew Lanham

this selection is in honor of the thrush whose morning today turned out to be its last, after a window

whirl pool
of time
in the limb

from A Year’s Supply of Poetry by Patricia Finney:

So quality is a difficult thing to pin down

And the fault might very likely be with me

And not him and his convoluted effusions.

To Sturgeon’s Principle, I add Finney’s Corollary

Which says that at least 10% of everything

Might be good.

whirl pool
of time
in the wind

from Ode by Jane Huffman:

          I was small and dizzying. I was dizzy. I rode
in small and dizzying circles. Andrea
taught me to ride, no stirrups. Nothing
suspending my body but intuition, the small
and dizzying circles of my body.
My intuition rode around me in small
and dizzying circles, her shadow riding
circles around me. I called her Andrea.

wooden whirlwind
of time

#todays poem
Haibun With Insects by Megan Kim

here’s the haiku portion


Lightning bug, firefly
I say grass lit like heaven
Is it a violence?

bird song
over the hood music
empty bird bath

What I Believe By Kimberly Blaeser

I believe the weave of cotton
will support my father’s knees,
but no indulgences will change hands.

I believe nothing folds easily,
but that time will crease—
retrain the mind.

I believe in the arrowheads of words
and I believe in silence.

I believe the rattle of birch leaves
can shake sorrow from my bones,
but that we all become bare at our own pace.

I believe the songs of childhood
follow us into the kettles of age,
but the echoes will not disturb the land.

I believe the reach of the kayak paddle
can part the blue corridor of aloneness,
and that eyes we see in water are never our own.

fence pickets
one by
one by
one tall weed

still standing

Visitors by Joan Naviyuk Kane:

Every door stands an open door:
our human settlements all temporary.

We share together the incidental shore
and teach the young to tend the lamp’s wick,

weary of anyone small enough to bar our entry.

in blue sky

haiku by Jacquie Pearce

a boy swings a branch swings a boy

The Atom No. 18 by Sarah Mangold

this poem is visually stylized so please click through to the link where it (hopefully) is more accessible than this image



walks its leaves
across the road