Poetry Daily
Rex Wilder
This brought back the hell of July, When I hiked every chance I got, talked to plants And deer. I didn't want to die.
from the journal Antioch Review

What Sparks Poetry is a serialized feature in which we invite poets to explore experiences and ideas that spark new poems. In our first series, The Poems of Others, we invited our editors to pay homage to the poems that led them to write. The Poems of Others II is a reprise of that series, opening the invitation to twenty-four poets from among our readers.

Hadara Bar-Nadav on Gwendolyn Brooks’s “the rites for Cousin Vit”
Photo: Hadara Bar-Nadav
Sherko Bekas (translated from the Kurdish by Choman Hardi)
— How sudden the bushes of scream in this field flower and grow into green almonds. How sudden the fallen songs in this field germinate and turn into tulips.
Keith S. Wilson
shall i tell you, then, that we exist? there came a light, blue and white careening. the police like wailing angels to bitter me.
Traci Brimhall
It's the garden spider who eats her mistakes at the end of day so she can billow in the lung of night, dangling from an insecure branch or caught on the coral spur of a dove's foot, and sleep, her spinnerets trailing radials like ungathered hair. It's a million-pound cumulus.
Gwendolyn Brooks
Carried her unprotesting out the door. Kicked back the casket-stand. But it can't hold her, That stuff and satin aiming to enfold her, The lid's contrition nor the bolts before.

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