Poet Jane Hirshfield said "... the feeling I have about poem-writing (is) that it is always an exploration, of discovering something I didn't already know.  Who I am shifts from moment to moment, year to year.  What I can perceive does as well.  A new poem peers into mystery, into whatever lies just beyond the edge of knowable ground."

I bring a different poem to the writing classes each week, not only to inspire but to introduce new poets to the group members.

Mount Kearsarge Shines by Donald Hall

Mount Kearsarge shines with ice; from hemlock branches 
snow slides onto snow; no stream, creek, or river
	          budges but remains still.  Tonight
                              we carry armloads of logs

from woodshed to Glenwood and build up the fire
that keeps the coldest night outside our windows.
                  Sit by the woodstove, Camilla,
                              while I bring glasses of white,

and we'll talk, passing the time, about weather
without pretending that we can alter it:
                  Storms stop when they stop, no sooner,
                              leaving the birches glossy

with ice and bent glittering to rimy ground.
We'll avoid the programmed weatherman grinning
                  from the box, cheerful with tempest,
                              and take the day as it comes,

one day at a time, the way everyone says,
These hours are the best because we hold them close
                  in our uxorious nation.
                             Soon we'll walk -- when days turn fair

and frost stays off -- over old roads, listening
for peepers as spring comes on, never to miss
	         the day's offering of pleasure
                              for the government of two.

~ from White Apples and the Taste of Stone 
(Houghton Mifflin Company, 2007)


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