The Daily Poem

Today's poem is Ted Kooser's "Splitting an Order." I like to watch an old man cutting a sandwich in half,maybe an ordinary cold roast beef on whole wheat bread,no pickles or onion, keeping his shaky hands steadyby placing his forearms firm on the edge of the tableand using both hands, the left to hold the sandwich in place,and the right to cut it surely, corner to corner,observing his progress through glasses that moments beforehe wiped with his napkin, and then to see him lift halfonto the extra plate that he had asked the server to bring,and then to wait, offering the plate to his wifewhile she slowly unrolls her napkin and places her spoon,her knife and her fork in their proper places,then smoothes the starched white napkin over her kneesand meets his eyes and holds out both old hands to him. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Edna Saint Vincent Millay's "God's World." O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!   Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!   Thy mists, that roll and rise!Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sagAnd all but cry with colour!   That gaunt cragTo crush!   To lift the lean of that black bluff!World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!Long have I known a glory in it all,         But never knew I this;         Here such a passion isAs stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fearThou’st made the world too beautiful this year;My soul is all but out of me,—let fallNo burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Robert Penn Warren's "Heart of Autumn." Remember: subscribe, rate, review! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Scott Cairns' "Which Tribe, Which River?"Remember: subscribe, rate, review! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Maurice Manning's "Thee Art of Poetry," from his great new collection, Railsplitter. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Robert Herrick's "Delight in Disorder." A sweet disorder in the dressKindles in clothes a wantonness;A lawn about the shoulders thrownInto a fine distraction;An erring lace, which here and thereEnthrals the crimson stomacher;A cuff neglectful, and therebyRibands to flow confusedly;A winning wave, deserving note,In the tempestuous petticoat;A careless shoe-string, in whose tieI see a wild civility:Do more bewitch me, than when artIs too precise in every part. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Phyllis McGinley's "November." Remember - rate, review, spread the word. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Thomas Hardy's "Last Week in October." The trees are undressing, and fling in many places—On the gray road, the roof, the window-sill—Their radiant robes and ribbons and yellow laces;A leaf each second so is flung at will,Here, there, another and another, still and still.A spider's web has caught one while downcoming,That stays there dangling when the rest pass on;Like a suspended criminal hangs he, mummingIn golden garb, while one yet green, high yon,Trembles, as fearing such a fate for himself anon. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Richard Wilbur's "October Maples, Portland." Remember: rate, review, spread the word. The leaves, though little time they have to live,Were never so unfallen as today,And seem to yield us through a rustled sieveThe very light from which time fell away.A showered fire we thought forever lostRedeems the air. Where friends in passing meet,They parley in the tongues of Pentecost.Gold ranks of temples flank the dazzled street.It is light of maples, and will go;But not before it washes eye and brainWith such a tincture, such a sanguine glowAs cannot fail to leave a lasting stain.So Mary’s laundered mantle (in the taleWhich, like all pretty tales, may still be true),Spread on the rosemary-bush, so drenched the paleSlight blooms in its irradiated hue,They could not choose but to return in blue. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe

Today's poem is Edith Wharton's "The Autumn Sunset." Remember: rate and review to spread the word. ILeaguered in fireThe wild black promontories of the coast extendTheir savage silhouettes;The sun in universal carnage sets,And, halting higher,The motionless storm-clouds mass their sullen threats,Like an advancing mob in sword-points penned,That, balked, yet stands at bay.Mid-zenith hangs the fascinated dayIn wind-lustrated hollows crystalline,A wan Valkyrie whose wide pinions shineAcross the ensanguined ruins of the fray,And in her hand swings high o’erhead,Above the waster of war,The silver torch-light of the evening starWherewith to search the faces of the dead. IILagooned in gold,Seem not those jetty promontories ratherThe outposts of some ancient land forlorn,Uncomforted of morn,Where old oblivions gather,The melancholy unconsoling foldOf all things that go utterly to deathAnd mix no more, no moreWith life’s perpetually awakening breath?Shall Time not ferry me to such a shore,Over such sailless seas,To walk with hope’s slain importunitiesIn miserable marriage? Nay, shall notAll things be there forgot,Save the sea’s golden barrier and the blackClose-crouching promontories?Dead to all shames, forgotten of all glories,Shall I not wander there, a shadow’s shade,A spectre self-destroyed,So purged of all remembrance and sucked backInto the primal void,That should we on the shore phantasmal meetI should not know the coming of your feet? Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit dailypoempod.substack.com/subscribe