Futility

Move him into the sun—
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields half-sown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds,—
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
Full-nerved—still warm—too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
—O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?

—Wilfred Owen

Still poetry month, the bird is my bell

Three new titles for poetry available now on the Website at deerbrookeditions.com all are accomplished poets. They Join the rank of Deerbrook poets, all of whom garner recognition in some way. In the spirit of poetry month (aren’t we lucky, the powers that be give us a full month to wave the poetry flag).

Wars Don't happen Anymore by Sarah White

Sarah White’s poems resonate the irony of glory and human love.

Beautiful Day by JR Solonche

Beautiful Day by JR Solonche has delight and sorrow, insights and more.

Poetry is like getting dropped off in New Orleans.

A passing by Joan I. Siegel

Meditations on what cannot be seen, the music of memory.

The birds can sing and I get them.