Archive for December, 2018

Elizabeth Warren Announces She Is Running for President in 2020 – The New York Times

Scott Watson – an untitled poem

Here are these words
set before you as if to
transmit something not
already available from
a media outlet store on
line. I have nothing other
than these words I’ve
made my own by living
a life these words are
telling of. Such words,
they may as well be a
leaf or a butterfly as me.

– Scott Watson

author of Poet Santōka: A Little Big Book (Sendai, Japan, 2018)
This is the first book in English about Santōka. 

Other titles by Scott Watson may be found at Scott Watson at Country Valley Press.


May Swenson – at Don Yorty


Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen

Where will I sleep
How will I ride
What will I hunt

Where can I go
without my mount
all eager and quick
How will I know
in thicket ahead
is danger or treasure
when Body my good
bright dog is dead

How will it be
to lie in the sky
without roof or door
and wind for an eye

With cloud for shift
how will I hide?

– May Swenson


Source: May Swenson reads The DNA Molecule – Don Yorty

William Blake’s To The Evening Star – Don Yorty

William Blake’s To The Evening Star


THOU fair-hair’d angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves, and while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And then the lion glares thro’ the dun forest:
The fleeces of our flocks are cover’d with
Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence.


The words are simple, but the poem excites. The second line ends with the enjambment light. Light can be a noun or a verb, and for me when I come across it, it feels like a noun but it’s a verb surprising me lighting its bright torch of love. It’s a sexy poem too and for Blake’s time anarchic as well: there are no end rhymes and the fifth line ends with the. The what? The blue curtains of the sky drawn by the star as Blake and his love lie down in their evening bed. With the oxymoron speak, silence in the middle of the ninth line, the sonnet opens its mouth and washes the dusk with silver. Silver, evening, smile, dew, eyes and sleep are repeated. I appreciate this because when I’m writing I sometimes want to repeat a word and feel it might be redundant or lazy on my part, but if it feels right and sounds right, then, of course, I ought to do it. Blake doesn’t follow the sonnet form either of eight lines to present an argument or a question and six lines to answer or resolve it, what is called the octave and the sestet. Any old Nazi can follow rules—all the poet has to do is be beautiful.       – Don Yorty

Source: William Blake’s To The Evening Star – Don Yorty

Ah! Sunflower by William Blake – Don Yorty

Ah! Sunflower by William Blake

for Rosemary Mayer

Ah Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun:
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the travellers journey is done.

Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow:
Arise from their graves and aspire,
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

Source: Ah! Sunflower by William Blake – Don Yorty

Birches read by Robert Frost on Vimeo

Teresa Berganza – A. Scarlatti’s Neapolitan Songs – YouTube