“He wrote something, your

Yeats, that made me think of you, and especially

what we have between us tonight. He wrote: ‘I

spread my dreams at your feet. Tread softly

because you tread on my dreams.’”

Valley of Silence

__________________________

✍️ Robert Frost

She shot the young girl a grin. "What are you studying?"

"American poets."

"Have a favorite?"

"I like Robert Frost."

"I always liked Frost." Kasey smiled as lines flitted through her mind. "His poems always remind me of my grandfather."

"Your grandfather?"

"He's a doctor in a remote section of West Virginia. Blue mountains, forest, streams. Last time I went home, he was still making house calls." He'll be making them when he's a hundred, she thought, and missed him suddenly, acutely. It had been too long since she'd

been home. "He's an incredible man—big and strapping with white hair and a big, booming voice. Gentle hands."

Tonight and Always

______________________

By Jeremyblock - Own work, CC BY 3.0, 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8920388

Instapoets have become iconic. Racking up hundreds of thousands of followers on Instagram, these poets are doing the impossible: making poetry accessible. 

They fill both books and social media with short-form, relatable, and even trending verse. 

SHAAZIA EBRAHIM and FATIMA MOOSA round up 10 instapoets that you must follow.

The Daily Vox

World Poetry Day 21 March

“There’s a copy of Byron downstairs.”

Despite her determination not to, Kate looked toward him again. “Byron?”

“I bought it after you left. The words are wonderful.” He had the three buttons undone with such quick expertise, she never noticed. “But I could always hear the way you’d say them. I remember one night on the beach, when the moon was full on the water. I don’t remember the name of the poem, but I remember how it started, and how it sounded when you said it. ‘It is the hour’,” he began, then smiled at her.

“‘It is the hour’,” Kate continued, “‘when from the boughs the nightingale is heard/It is the hour when lovers’ vows seem sweet in every whisper’d word/And gentle winds, and waters near make music to the lonely ear’…” She trailed off, remembering even the scent of that night.

Treasures Lost, Treasures Found

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~~~WORLD POETRY DAY~~~

bud and bloom

"So, the name of the shop. Bud and Bloom. Is that from Whistler?"
Surprise, and speculation, flickered over her face. "As a matter of fact, it is. You're the first to tag it."
"One of my brothers is big on stuff like that. I can't remember the quote exactly. Something about
perfect in its bud as in its bloom."

Chesapeake Blue

____________

The masterpiece should appear as the flower to the painter.. 

perfect in its bud as in its bloom.. 

with no reason to explain its presence.. 

no mission to fulfill.. 

a joy to the artist, a delusion to the philanthropist.. 

a puzzle to the botanist.. 

an accident of sentiment and alliteration to the literary man.

James McNeill Whistler

_________________

 (the pictures - and roses - are mine)