I came across this poem and thought it a good one to share with you, even though it references September. On the East Coast, September is very much like November here.
On a cold late
September morning,
wider than sky-wide
discs of lit-shale clouds
skim the hills,
crescents, chords
of sunlight
now and then fracturing
the long peripheries:
the crow flies
silent
on course but destinationless,
floating:
hurry, hurry,
the running light says,
while anything remains.
A. R. Ammons
But here is a holiday poem–may it bring you a glee too fine to hear.
HollyThe hollybush flowers
small whites (become of
course berries)
four tiny petals
turned
back and four
anthers stuck out:
the pistil low &
honey-high:
wasp-bees (those small
wasps or
bees) come around
with a glee too
fine to hear: when Continue reading “Feeling a bit Grinchy”
Driving up I-5 from LA yesterday, spring had come to California. The hills are briefly green and gold, and the orchards all in bloom. I thought of this poem by A. R. Ammons, and was surprised to find I haven’t posted any of his work. Here’s a poem to remedy that:
It was May before my
attention came
to spring and
my word I said
to the southern slopes
I’ve
missed it, it
came and went before
I got right to see: Continue reading “Eyesight”