Poetry Singles Poem a Day: Recent Episodes
Eric Olsen
Poetry Singles is a daily poetry meditation designed to help you learn to appreciate the great poets and poetry of all time. When listening to the Poetry Singles’ poem of the day, don’t focus on finding understanding. Simply rest in the recitation. And think about whatever the poem makes you feel. In just a minute a day, your love for the great poets and great poetry of all time will deepen how you see the world.
Today’s poem is Still I Rise by Maya Angelou. You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? ’Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard ’Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin’ in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I’ll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history’s shame I rise Up from a past that’s rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise. This poem can be found in the volume, "And Still I Rise: A Book of Poems". Think about how the poem made you feel. Do you feel empowered? Do you feel like you are standing next to the shoulders of other giants who have gone before you? Do you feel that the world can be beaten today? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
Today’s poem is The Builders by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. All are architects of Fate, Working in these walls of Time; Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials filled; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build. Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen. In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire, and clean. Else our lives are incomplete, Standing in these walls of Time, Broken stairways, where the feet Stumble as they seek to climb. Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base; And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its place. Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky. This poem can be found in The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Think about how the poem made you feel. Did you see yourself as a builder in this story? Do you see yourself as an architect of your own life, or a mere resident in a world the gods have built? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
I have never been fishing on the Susquehanna or on any river for that matter to be perfectly honest. Not in July or any month have I had the pleasure—if it is a pleasure— of fishing on the Susquehanna. I am more likely to be found in a quiet room like this one— a painting of a woman on the wall, a bowl of tangerines on the table— trying to manufacture the sensation of fishing on the Susquehanna. There is little doubt that others have been fishing on the Susquehanna, rowing upstream in a wooden boat, sliding the oars under the water then raising them to drip in the light. But the nearest I have ever come to fishing on the Susquehanna was one afternoon in a museum in Philadelphia when I balanced a little egg of time in front of a painting in which that river curled around a bend under a blue cloud-ruffled sky, dense trees along the banks, and a fellow with a red bandanna sitting in a small, green flat-bottom boat holding the thin whip of a pole. That is something I am unlikely ever to do, I remember saying to myself and the person next to me. Then I blinked and moved on to other American scenes of haystacks, water whitening over rocks, even one of a brown hare who seemed so wired with alertness I imagined him springing right out of the frame. This poem can be found in the volume, Picnic Lightning. Think about what the poem made you feel. Did you enjoy the use of repetition? Could you relate to the idea of ever-enjoying the art itself, but not necessarily the scene it depicts? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
The whiskey stink of rot has settled in the garden, and a burst of fruit flies rises when I touch the dying tomato plants. Still, the claws of tiny yellow blossoms flail in the air as I pull the vines up by the roots and toss them in the compost. It feels cruel. Something in me isn’t ready to let go of summer so easily. To destroy what I’ve carefully cultivated all these months. Those pale flowers might still have time to fruit. My great-grandmother sang with the girls of her village as they pulled the flax. Songs so old and so tied to the season that the very sound seemed to turn the weather. Karina's most recent book of poems is called Proof. Think about what the poem made you feel. Did you feel life in the garden described? Or death? Did the language of seasons make you consider the passing of time? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. This poem can be found the volume, The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged. Think about what the poem made you feel. Could you feel the warmth of the fire, or the cold of the ice. Did you find yourself siding on way or the other based on your own experiences with hate and desire? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
Beneath the blossoms with a pot of wine, No friends at hand, so I poured alone; I raised my cup to invite the moon, Turned to my shadow, and we became three. Now the moon had never learned about drinking, And my shadow had merely followed my form, But I quickly made friends with the moon and my shadow; To find pleasure in life, make the most of the spring. Whenever I sang, the moon swayed with me; Whenever I danced, my shadow went wild. Drinking, we shared our enjoyment together; Drunk, then each went off on his own. But forever agreed on dispassionate revels, We promised to meet in the far Milky Way. This poem can be found in the volume, The Selected Poems of Li Po. Think about what the poem made you feel. Did you catch yourself looking skyward? Could you picture the shadow dance? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you again tomorrow.
Today’s poem is Psalm 23 by King David. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever. This poem can be found in the book of Psalms in the King James Version of the Holy Bible. Think about what the poem made you feel. Did the poem calm you down? Did you feel comforted? Did you wish you could feel comforted by those words, but aren't? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we'll see you again tomorrow.
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon. In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations! What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!—and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons? I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys. I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel? I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective. We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier. Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight? (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.) Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we’ll both be lonely. Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage? Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe? This poem can be found in the volume, Collected Poems 1947-1997. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0061139750/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0061139750&linkCode=as2&tag=mobilea09ae25-20&linkId=6d121f38461f826ae86dbcd4b8e7227d Think about what the poem made you feel. Did you consider what historical figure or idol you wish you could run into today? That all those writers and authors you only have a 1-way relationship with could be engaged in a true dialogue today? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
He is more than a hero he is a god in my eyes— the man who is allowed to sit beside you — he who listens intimately to the sweet murmur of your voice, the enticing laughter that makes my own heart beat fast. If I meet you suddenly, I can’t speak — my tongue is broken; a thin flame runs under my skin; seeing nothing, hearing only my own ears drumming, I drip with sweat; trembling shakes my body and I turn paler than dry grass. At such times death isn’t far from me. This poem can be found in the volume, The Complete Poems of Sappho. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1590306139/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1590306139&linkCode=as2&tag=mobilea09ae25-20&linkId=63ff1559ebf54d25e82476cfcd091b97 Think about what the poem made you feel. Did you find it fascinating when revealed that “he” isn’t truly the subject of the author’s passion. Did you remember the last time the nervous butterflies of love took over your entire body? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. This sonnet, Sonnet 18, can be found in the volume, The Sonnets and a Lover’s Complaint. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0141192577/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0141192577&linkCode=as2&tag=mobilea09ae25-20&linkId=b26b6c6e0057b96200fbfb2c1034f486 Think about what the sonnet made you feel. Could you feel the summer’s warmth? Did the sonnet make you consider what will eventually fade vs. that which is eternal? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
On Sundays, the preacher gives everyone a chance to repent their sins. Miss Edna makes me go to church. She wears a bright hat I wear my suit. Babies dress in lace. Girls my age, some pretty, some not so pretty. Old ladies and men nodding. Miss Edna every now and then throwing her hand in the air. Saying Yes, Lord and Preach! I sneak a pen from my back pocket, bend down low like I dropped something. The chorus marches up behind the preacher clapping and humming and getting ready to sing. I write the word HOPE on my hand. This poem can be found in the volume, Locomotion. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0142415529/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0142415529&linkCode=as2&tag=mobilea09ae25-20&linkId=b0a0de0ade5f56eb63c15cd2b11ab718 Think about what the poem made you feel. Did the spiritual language make you nostalgic, or cringe? Could you picture the actions taking place in the prose? Did you feel the same hope the narrator claimed? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
We mourn the broken things, chair legs wrenched from their seats, chipped plates, the threadbare clothes. We work the magic of glue, drive the nails, mend the holes. We save what we can, melt small pieces of soap, gather fallen pecans, keep neck bones for soup. Beating rugs against the house, we watch dust, lit like stars, spreading across the yard. Late afternoon, we draw the blinds to cool the rooms, drive the bugs out. My mother irons, singing, lost in reverie. I mark the pages of a mail-order catalog, listen for passing cars. All day we watch for the mail, some news from a distant place. This poem can be found in the volume Domestic Works: Poems. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1555973094/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1555973094&linkCode=as2&tag=mobilea09ae25-20&linkId=56bc8a7294b0469a8a693c43dfe7e5a7 Think about what the poem made you feel. Did any of the word choices make you crack a small smile? Did any of the imagery remind you of your childhood? Experiences you either had, or didn’t? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
The day is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, And the days are dark and dreary. Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; Thy fate is the common fate of all, Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. This poem can be found in the volume The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1849025258/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1849025258&linkCode=as2&tag=mobilea09ae25-20&linkId=a738240d62578110a92d97dd6aa12b96 Think about what the poem made you feel. Could you feel the rain? Did the words connect you to a certain time in your life, or to the present? When you look out the window today, can you see the sun, or is it merely behind the dark and dreary? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. This poem can be found in the volume The Poetry of Robert Frost: The Collected Poems, Complete and Unabridged. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0805005021/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0805005021&linkCode=as2&tag=mobilea09ae25-20&linkId=963a1e1a570d0522324befe2205e3ac8 Think about what the poem made you feel. Does it make you recall a previous path you have taken? Does it make you curious about an upcoming fork yet to come? May you live out another beautiful poem in the collection of your life today, and we’ll see you tomorrow. http://poetrysingles.com/road-not-taken-robert-frost/
