Another round of poetry begins.

Ok, so I’ll admit that this blog has been less “live in the layers” and more “let’s collect layers of dust” over the past few months. Turns out that getting a Masters degree is a bit more time consuming than I thought it would be. But I’m not going to let anything get in the way of me and National Poetry Month, which begins today, April 1.

For those of who you followed this blog last year and have removed me from your RSS feeds because of my ¬†lack o’ updates, my sincere apologies. Come back to me! For the new visitors: welcome. Like last April, I will be posting a poem (or a few) each day. Some will be by poets who may be familiar to you, others more obscure or perhaps fresh out of MFA programs. Regardless, I hope that at least a few of my choices will strike you in some way. And if they do, please let me know–leave comments so I know that somebody other than my mom (hey, mom!) is reading this.

If you’d like to read more about National Poetry Month or sign up to receive a poem e-mailed to you each day because you just can’t get enough, check out The Academy of American Poets slew of resources at

Alright, that’s enough throat clearing for now. Let’s begin, shall we?

Here’s a somewhat bare bone and yet, to me, incredibly beautiful poem by Ralph Angel (1951-). Angel hails from Seattle, Washington and currently teaches creative writing at the University of Redlands in Los Angeles. I happened upon this poem while catching up on the great¬†Poetry Foundation podcasts a few months ago. I recommend listening to the audio before/after/while reading the poem.

This–by Ralph Angel

Today, my love,
Leaves are thrashing the wind
just as pedestrians are erecting again the buildings of this drab
forbidding city,
and our lives, as I lose track of them,
are the lives of others derailing in time and
getting things done.
Impossible to make sense of any one face
or mouth, though
each distance
is clear, and you are miles
from here.
Let your pure
space crowd my heart,
that we might stay awhile longer amid the flying
This moment,
I swear it,
isn’t going anywhere.