I seem to have lost my energy for this project, if, indeed, I ever had it. It has languished for a few weeks now, and perhaps the problem is in the title. “Bain Books Daily Poem.” For crying out loud, what was I thinking? I grow myself a beard because I don’t like shaving every day. I can barely get my arms around the fact that my espresso machine is so fine that I absolutely have to make coffee every day. And the dogs wonder if they will ever be walked by me again. Did I really think I would be able to accomplish a daily poem, or poem news, or a poetry prompt, or anything related to dailiness?
Yes, apparently I did. But now I’m not so sure. Especially if I require it of myself.
I will rethink this whole thing and get back to you. Until then, be patient, okay? I still love you all.
I do.
Honestly.
Blessings,
Terry
Smart people like you probably already know about Poetry Daily. But it took me awhile to realize here at the daily poem that there was the Poetry Daily serving up the goods, er, daily (unlike the daily poem, which is more like a nod to the fact that there is such a thing as a daily poem rather than an actual poem every day, so that a site such as Poetry Daily really takes the pressure off a blog like the Daily Poem, you know?… ). Today? Carl Phillips.
So, now that I have you thoroughly flummoxed, I present a link: Poetry Daily.
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There are some new links, and the reasons I link them, on the links page, for those interested in linking and clicking, or clicking and linking.
Blessings.
You owe it to yourself (or, if you don’t trust yourself, you owe it to me) to read “Parent” over at The Writer’s Almanac. Better yet, let Garrison Keillor read it to you. It is a particularly amazing poem (for me), and I find myself near tears. Lovely. So lovely. Here: Parent. Also, subscribe to The Writer’s Almanac podcast. It’s worth it. Every day. Here: 
And was gone to Seattle for the weekend. I know I should have set things up to run here without me, but I didn’t. So, you know, since nobody is paying me to keep this site updated on a continuous basis, I feel as though I’m safe… no need to apologize as much as I’m already apologizing. Um. So. I’m back now, and something will appear later today. And yes, I know it’s Poetry Month. And I know you’ve had poetry on your mind all month. But why do we create special months for poetry? What is the point? Do you have any idea? It seems somewhat absurd, doesn’t it? Can we not deem the notion of a “poetry month” absurd and move on?
Maybe we daren’t. Here’s a PSA from Poets.org:
& More - National Poetry Month">Inaugurated by the Academy in April 1996, National Poetry Month (NPM) brings together publishers, booksellers, literary organizations, libraries, schools, and poets around the country to celebrate poetry and its vital place in American culture. Thousands of businesses and non-profit organizations participate through readings, festivals, book displays, workshops, and other events.
Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More - National Poetry Month
