“The Magi” by William Butler Yeats. A Christmas poem that’s not about Christmas, I guess. I love the final image:
Now as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
“Meditatio,” Ezra Pound
When I carefully consider the curious habits of dogs
I am compelled to conclude
That man is the superior animal.When I consider the curious habits of man
I confess, my friend, I am puzzled.
(Thanks to Giovanni for sending this in).
From Gordon Lish’s story “How to Write a Poem.”
“Election Day,” William Carlos Williams:
Warm sun, quiet air
an old man sitsin the doorway of
a broken house—boards for windows
plaster fallingfrom between the stones
and strokes the headof a spotted dog
Biblioklept 