a female bluebird brings poetry to the back fields
Photo by J. Harrington
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Did you know that, at the Academy of American Poets web site (poets.org), you can "Sign up for Poem-a-Day and read a poem each morning." (You can also read one here each day, too.) I signed up quite awhile ago and have been at least looking at a different poem each morning. I'm finally beginning to accept that I don't have to understand or even enjoy every poem in the world (I reached that stage with Brussels sprouts long ago), but I can't be sure whether or not I enjoy a poem unless I at least try it. (I can hear my mother's voice asking "How will you know?"). One of the reasons there are so many different poets, and poems, and flowers, and vegetables, and birds, and ..., is because we all don't like Brussels sprouts, or cauliflower, or hamburgers, or even waffles. If we all were the same, and all liked the same things, the world would be a monoculture and more vulnerable to pestilence. As it is, we are subject to pests like mosquitoes and ticks and Republicans, but that's better than monocultural dominance, isn't it? Something to think about during
Vision
With age mirage assuages what the youthful eye would have studied until identified— chicory? bluebird? debris? Today no nomenclature ruptures the composure of a chalk-blue haze pausing, even dawdling, now and then trembling over what I’m going to call fresh water.
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