"But I love the I, steel I-beam that my father sold."

But I love the I, steel I-beam
that my father sold. They poured the pig iron
into the mold, and it fed out slowly,
a bending jelly in the bath, and it hardened,
Bessemer, blister, crucible, alloy, and he
marketed it, and bought bourbon, and Cream
of Wheat, its curl of butter right
in the middle of its forehead, he paid for our dresses
with his metal sweat, sweet in the morning
and sour in the evening. . . .

from Take the I Out by Sharon Olds

Let us begin with a simple line . . .

Let us begin with a simple line,
Drawn as a child would draw it,
To indicate the horizon,

More real than the real horizon,
Which is less than line,
Which is visible abstraction, a ratio.

The line ravishes the page with implications
Of white earth, white sky!

The horizon moves as we move,
Making us feel central.
But the horizon is an empty shell . . . .

from Art Class by James Galvin

National Poetry Month

When a poem
speaks by itself,
it has a spark

and can be considered
part of a divine
conversation.

Sometimes the poem weaves
like a basket around
two loaves of yellow bread.

"Break off a piece
of this April with its
raisin nipples," it says. . . .

from National Poetry Month by Elaine Equi


The image above is a mosaic depicting the House of the Tragic Poet in Pompeii. The mosaic is in the collection of the National Archaeological Museum, Naples, Italy.

"Writing poems about writing poems is like rolling bales of hay in Texas . . ."

Writing poems about writing poems
is like rolling bales of hay in Texas.
Nothing but the horizon to stop you. . . .

from Always on the Train by Ruth Stone

Poetry is a destructive force

That's what misery is,
Nothing to have at heart.
It is to have or nothing.

It is a thing to have,
A lion, an ox in his breast,
To feel it breathing there. . . .

from Poetry Is a Destructive Force by Wallace Stevens

"In the old days a poet once said . . ."

In the old days a poet once said
our nation is destroyed
yet the mountains and rivers survive

Today's poet says
the mountains and rivers are destroyed
yet our nation survives . . .

from In the old days a poet once said by Ko Un

" . . . there are things that are important beyone all this fiddle."

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond
all this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one
discovers in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a

high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
they are
useful.

from Poetry by Marianne Moore