Poet Bloggers Revival Digest: Weeks 21-22

Despite the hiatus, this edition isn’t any longer than usual, but with twice as many posts to choose from, I think it might be one of the more compelling digests I’ve had the pleasure of assembling.

Mountain wedding

It may seem odd, me being a poet and all, that I hadn’t really given much thought to reading poetry at our wedding, but it was only on the day of our wedding that I mentioned to Rachel that I had a poem in mind to read, and it seemed that she did, too.

Thread

A slightly more experimental videopoem than usual: words mutating into other words while an annoyed porcupine communicates its displeasure by clacking its teeth.

In hepatica time

This entry is part 78 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

It’s cold. Mid-day
and the hepatica flowers are still
only half-open, nodding

on their thin stalks.
My mother tallies them up—
stroke-marks in her notebook.

At the top of a hemlock tree,
a porcupine sleeps in a sunlit
halo of quills.

Winterkill

This entry is part 34 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses

When it died, the porcupine leaked its fluids onto the snow like a junker car. I turn it over with a stick: no sign of a wound. Startled up from the forest floor, sixteen doves go whistling into the snow squall.