by Thomas Hardy I went by the Druid stone That broods in the garden white and lone, And I stopped and looked at the shifting shadows That at some moments fall thereon From the tree hard by with a rhythmic swing, And they shaped in my imagining To the shade that a well-known head and […]
by Mary Oliver So heavy is the long-necked, long-bodied heron, always it is a surprise when her smoke-colored wings open and she turns from the thick water, from the black sticks of the summer pond, and slowly rises into the air and is gone. Then, not for the first or the last time, I take […]
by Mary Oliver Last night in the fields I lay down in the darkness to think about death, but instead I fell asleep, as if in a vast and sloping room filled with those white flowers that open all summer, sticky and untidy, in the warm fields. When I woke the morning light was just […]
V. What the Thunder Said After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now […]
by Richard Chess Called into the arms of history, arms that embrace, arms that steady, arms that secure and crush, called at night, called by a reed but they were uncertain what the reed was calling them to, called by blood and bone of a lamb, but they were unsure of what the stain of […]
by Mark Doty For his birthday, I gave Stanley a hyacinth bean, an annual, so he wouldn’t have to wait for the flowers. He said, Mark, I have just the place for it! as if he’d spent ninety-eight years anticipating the arrival of this particular vine. I thought poetry a brace against time, the hours […]
by Louise Bogan Now that I have your face by heart, I look Less at its features than its darkening frame Where quince and melon, yellow as young flame, Lie with quilled dahlias and the shepherd’s crook. Beyond, a garden. There, in insolent ease The lead and marble figures watch the show Of yet another […]
by Lisa Olstein It has been so wet stones glaze in moss; everything blooms coldly. I expect you. I thought one night it was you at the base of the drive, you at the foot of the stairs, you in a shiver of light, but each time leaves in wind revealed themselves, the retreating shadow […]
Rachel Pollak is the Community Coordinator at St. Lydia’s. This is an excerpt from her weekly update to the community. Dear Lydians, I’m sure some of you saw this poem in our city’s favorite self-titled magazine this week. But for those of you who didn’t, I feel moved to share it with you. * * […]
by David Biespiel After it came in like a dark bird Out of the snow, barely whistling The notes father, mother, child, It was hard to say what made us happiest.Seeing the branches where it had learned To stir the air? The air that opened Without fear? Just the branches And us in a room of wild things? […]