“How To Be a Poet” by Wendell Berry.

How To Be A Poet

i
Make a place to sit down.
Sit down. Be quiet.
You must depend upon
affection, reading, knowledge,
skill—more of each
than you have—inspiration,
work, growing older, patience,
for patience joins time
to eternity. Any readers
who like your poems,
doubt their judgment.

ii
Breathe with unconditional breath
the unconditioned air.
Shun electric wire.
Communicate slowly. Live
a three-dimensioned life;
stay away from screens.
Stay away from anything
that obscures the place it is in.
There are no unsacred places;
there are only sacred places
and desecrated places.

iii
Accept what comes from silence.
Make the best you can of it.
Of the little words that come
out of the silence, like prayers
prayed back to the one who prays,
make a poem that does not disturb
the silence from which it came.

— Wendell Berry

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SPRINGPOEM

All of a sudden, the yellowing—

coltsfoot
dandelions
forsythia
daffodils

& the chickening—

the neighbor’s chalkboard sign reads
FREE ROOSTERS
the other neighbor’s pullets
test their babywings out front

& the neon-greening—

the leafing out
leaves like fingers spreading into hands
the hillsides like a fabric
of chlorophyll’s talents

& the perennials—

the miracle of having only
to plant something once
to receive its joys
each year

Taryn Day Daffodils in a Jar 2011
Daffodils in a Jar by Taryn Day

Poems: now available!

People always ask me if they can buy my book, and I’m always like, “Oh yeah, I have these beautiful books I made, I should definitely make them available online somewhere so you can get one.” But then I never do it!

Well, I did it.

Handmade chapbooks of poems are here.

Poetry broadsides are here.

(Email me if you want to barter for either. US dollars are nice to have, but so is other people’s art.)

Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be going. I’m going to have a baby in about one minute, and there are a few more things that I should tend to before that arrival.

POEMS by Taylor Mardis Katz

Rural miracle (poem) (mine).

Driving through Vermont today
Monday::latemorning::pregnant
& the rural miracle
is 50 Cent’s “P.I.M.P.” on the radio

mixed into another cut
from “Get Rich or Die Tryin’”
which I know all the words to::which I am trying
to do myself

Riches so far include
these leaves finally turning bright
homemade deli pickles in the basement
healthy body::& family::& friends

but otherwise financially [technically] speaking
riches do not abound
especially right now
[[I worry::I try not to worry::I worry about it]]

The baby bounces with me
in the truck which bounces
at speeds higher than 50
[something that needs fixing]

[[like the other car
which is also broken]] [dead battery]
Today I will be invited as a guest on a radio show
Today I will buy myself the purple asters I covet

I can’t get out of chairs easily::or gracefully
Even women help me now at stores
In stretchy black & sagegreen clothes
I hustle forward with this baby beneath my skin

Like 50 I have 21 questions [[about birth::& life]]
I try to breathe like the articles tell me to
I fail::I thrive::I fail again::I’m fueled
by gasoline & fresh-dug beets & beliefs I can’t explain

“Pregnancy is hands-free” (poem) (mine)

Pregnancy is hands-free

I’m growing a child while I sleep
I’m growing a child while I weed the lavender
I’m growing a child while I fill the ice cube trays
I’m growing a child while I wipe down the toilet
I’m growing a child while I organize headbands I never wear
I’m growing a child while I edit Spotify playlists
I’m growing a child while I throw out all my underwear with holes
I’m growing a child while I water the geraniums
I’m growing a child while I add more salt to the pesto
I’m growing a child while I bobby-pin my hair
I’m growing a child while I remove dirt from my fingernails

I’m growing a child while the maples slip into their best red outfits, while the mornings dampen with mist, while I pack cucumbers and hot peppers into jars, while I bag corn and blackberries and peppers for the freezer, while I simmer plum compote and pick the last batch of cosmos, while the cows enjoy their last spin around the paddocks, while I braid the garlic and wrap the yarrow in string, while summer unzips her skirt and throws it atop the yellowing milkweed, the New England asters, the spent blossoms of Queen Anne—

“(Brooklyn) Is Magic” (poem) (mine)

(Brooklyn) Is Magic

Brooklyn smells like palo santo
and wet daffodils as I schlep
to the next set of stairs
that leads to someone
I love.
I’m never in the city
and when I am
every second
is so city
I have to laugh.
The dogs dressed better
than I. Everyone clutching
their phones
like children on a rollercoaster
in need of their mother’s hand.
Even the bookstore is curated
to please the eye
and it pleases me
to see people I love stepping off the subway
like celebrities
and it’s pleasurable
to be one of so many
planning
buying
laughing
at once
over brunch
and for just a moment
the weight of breakfast
is heavier and sweeter-smelling
than the spring clouds bearing rain.

New theme song.

Work From Home ft. Ty Dolla $ign

Ever since I began working from home
my cleavage has gotten amazing

I learned the seductive way to wear a utility belt
and I finally have an excuse to sport

all those g-d damn sexy leotards
that have been sitting in my drawer for months

and all the other woman I know locally
who also work from home

come over in their work boots
and we grind in unison

on top of anything lying around
cuz that’s what working from home affords us

cuz we don’t gotta go to work
we let our bodies do the work