#todayspoem
haiku by Johnny Baranski

This heat!
snow-clad mountains framed
by the cell block window

An ink drawing of the window image in the haiku

asleep in the long grass
coyote stretches
the sun down

#todayspoem
haiku by Jamie Everhart

summer sunset
a snake in the mouth
of a snake

stacking skeletons
fallen limbs, some held
by the living

#todayspoem
from Topsy-Turvy World by William Brighty Rands

Ba-ba, black wool,
 Have you any sheep?
Yes, sir, a packfull,
  Creep, mouse, creep!
Four-and-twenty little maids
  Hanging out the pie,
Out jump’d the honey-pot,
  Guy Fawkes, Guy!
Cross latch, cross latch,
  Sit and spin the fire;
When the pie was open’d,
  The bird was on the brier!

water rolls down the glass
ice shifts - a dog
barks

#todayspoem
from Recollections of My Nonexistence by Rebecca Solnit

Growing up, we say, as though we were trees, as though altitude was all that there was to be gained, but so much of the process is growing whole as the fragments are gathered, the patterns found. Human infants are born with craniums made up of four plates that have not yet knit together into a solid dome so that their heads can compress to fit through the birth canal, so that the brain within can then expand. The seams of these plates are intricate, like fingers interlaced, like the meander of arctic rivers across tundra.
​ The skull quadruples in size in the first few years, and if the bones knit together too soon, they restrict the growth of the brain; and if they don’t knit at all the brain remains unprotected. Open enough to grow and closed enough to hold together is what a life must also be. We collage ourselves into being, finding the pieces of a worldview and people to love and reasons to live and then integrate them into a whole, a life consistent with its beliefs and desires, at least if we’re lucky.

basho’s narrow road
in the rain, lead piles
at the curb

#todayspoem
haiku by Ramesh Anand

sizzling noon
buffalo walks away
with the pond

one leg
from beneath the car
rain picks up

#todayspoem
A Cottony Fate by Jane Hirshfield

Long ago, someone
told me: avoid or.

It troubles the mind
as a held-out piece of meat disturbs a dog.

Now I too am sixty
There was no other life.

leaves
piled on the ground
the birds, quiet

#todayspoem
from The Drought by J. G. Ballard

the pages stained with the formalin that leaked from the corpses on the tables, somewhere among them the unknown face of his surgeon father.

thin branch
made mostly bare
yellowed leaves

#todayspoem
Halloween Haiku by Jone Rush MacCulloch

scarecrow in the field
wears last winter’s torn raincoat
murder of crows land

the hours
come at different times
squirrels / up and down a tree

the order the same
the order the same

#todayspoem
The Blue in Beets by Erica Funkhouser

The blue in beets
comes and goes
sometimes a shadow
of the weeds
where beets grew
or of their towering leaves
other times a suggestion
of what the beets
might have been:
blue birds
blue stones
blue fish
blue whales
blue water.
If blue isn’t here
it’s there
if it’s not there
it’s coming
if you have just seen it
it will be back
if you have never seen it
you will.

dead spider
on the stove
changing the clocks

#todayspoem
Time by John Wieners

Why is it eternity lasts a moment
a moment eternity?

Are you quiet enough to hear horned owls
at dawn?

I hear voices rustle in the leaves
after they are gone.

New mice burst into life. Small raccoons
bear tiny chains around their wrists.

sandwich
half eaten
the air hardens

#todayspoem
from sky hammer by Julian Talamantez Brolaski:

I took my sky hammer &
pounded out a few choice
clouds, cirrus and I don’t know, nimbus
as in a god on earth
moving in space as a great auroral mist
a god who beholds the sparrows
washing in the dusty gravel
of frankford avenue

future
gods of forgotten hymns, fallen
squirrel food

#todayspoem

rock fall
of the clock hand
a branch, falling

#todayspoem

Marble
by Maggie Graber

via Lue’s Poetry Hour

Love, show me your teeth.
Show me the night settling

like a black pond, moon
a glint in a wolf’s eye. Show me
your eyes of bone-white

and shadow, the bonfires
that stripped off our bark

and your throat full of bees.
Look. The river changes tenses
and I can’t get enough of this

light, the needlework of stars
and the dozen broken hearts

it took to get to this one—
a marble peering through ashes
like moonlight in mist.