Poem: Ebb

 "Ebb"
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I know what my heart is like

      Since your love died:

It is like a hollow ledge

Holding a little pool

      Left there by the tide,

      A little tepid pool,

Drying inward from the edge.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44720/ebbI?fbclid=IwAR0EN7vpz_8IPjiaG2B_gdZqzklbqChOk3iRXsMxdh3GA-rsYCXv5sYCw24

Poem: Ever

"Ever"
by Meghan O'Rourke

Never, never, never, never, never.
—King Lear

Even now I can’t grasp “nothing” or “never.”
They’re unholdable, unglobable, no map to nothing.
Never? Never ever again to see you?
An error, I aver. You’re never nothing,
because nothing’s not a thing.
I know death is absolute, forever,
the guillotine—gutting—never to which we never say goodbye.
But even as I think “forever” it goes “ever”
and “ever” and “ever.” Ever after.
I’m a thing that keeps on thinking. So I never see you
is not a thing or think my mouth can ever. Aver:
You’re not “nothing.” But neither are you something.
Will I ever really get never?
You’re gone. Nothing, never—ever.

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/ever?fbclid=IwAR1nCBQ9AHbErfzz5rMAJkH3xuCOz1sw1P0RNK4OLPnC311ET3s4AtpaKhs

Poem: Insomnolence

"Insomnolence"
by Charles Rafferty

I navigate the dark house by moving from the green star of the smoke detector to the blue star of the electric toothbrush. I am no different than Magellan or Marco Polo, I am guided by what burns. Some nights I step onto the back porch. The prow of it charges the blackness, while the stars above me sharpen and blur. Inside, I harbor the ache of what is no longer possible.

https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/insomnolence?fbclid=IwAR1mddXAdbAJqNYrG34h8Qy6SvEgf1pj2HUM-KsM-xTolQcqTO7k1DPPYmI

Poem: The Comfort of Dakness

The Comfort of Darkness
by Galway Kinnell

Darkness swept the earth in my dream,
Cold crowded the streets with its wings,
Cold talons pursued each river and stream
Into the mountains, found out their springs
And drilled the dark world with ice.
An enormous wreck of a bird
Closed on my heart in the darkness
And sank into sleep as it shivered.
Not even the heat of your blood, nor the pure
Light falling endlessly from you, like rain,
Could stay in my memory there
Or comfort me then.
Only the comfort of darkness,
The ice-cold, unfreezable brine,
Could melt the cries into silence,
Your bright hands into mine.

Poem: Valediction: A Forbidden Mourning

Valediction: A Forbidden Mourning

by John Donne

As virtuous men pass mildly away,

   And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say

   The breath goes now, and some say, No:

So let us melt, and make no noise,

   No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

'Twere profanation of our joys

   To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,

   Men reckon what it did, and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,

   Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love

   (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doth remove

   Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,

   That our selves know not what it is,

Inter-assured of the mind,

   Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,

   Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

   Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so

   As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show

   To move, but doth, if the other do.

And though it in the center sit,

   Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it,

   And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

   Like th' other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

   And makes me end where I begun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I first read this poem deeply in grad school, and love it's end point. That separation of true loves isn't about the physical distance, but that as poles, or magnets, they pull each other back together. 

Poem: Loss

Loss
by Rodney Gomez

Lately I have been a gap.
Moth clouds follow me to bed.
I counted them: twenty, fifty, block, choke.

In the room where I used to sleep
a breath hangs low on the bed
and hoarsens the room.
No one knows where the air is
charged and released into the world,
but it thistles.

This is how breathing fills a house
with family: breathing to draw
the buzzing to its source
and breathing to lacquer a plugged maze.

How a house fully beamed and walled
is not a house, but a husk.
How a life in the span of a few breaths
becomes a clockless thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I describe my grief as suffocating, and the image of "thistle[d]" air speaks to me - I almost choke on the intensity of my grief - the air is rough and difficult, spiked.

The last stanza too, reminds me of our house: the hollowness of it - the soul of the space has deflated.

Poem: In this short Life that only lasts an hour (1292)

In this short Life that only lasts an hour (1292)
by Emily Dickinson

In this short Life that only lasts an hour

How much - how little - is within our power

Poem: [love is more thicker than forget]

[love is more thicker than forget]

by e.e. cummings

love is more thicker than forget

more thinner than recall

more seldom than a wave is wet

more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly

and less it shall unbe

than all the sea which only

is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win

less never than alive

less bigger than the least begin

less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly

and more it cannot die

than all the sky which only

is higher than the sky

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/22224/love-is-more-thicker-than-forget?fbclid=IwAR0_UPmlA3LM_V23vyIwT_PKCwlFp7qZunvvnALe0tJYP_O_Ko1s-wVxJHc

Poem: Elegy

Elegy
by Mong-Lan

& what if hope crashes through the door what if

that lasts a somersault?
hope for serendipity
even if a series of meals were all between us
even if the aeons lined up out
of order
what are years if not measured by trees

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is what grief feels like to me right now - a bit jumbled and random.

Poem: The Clearing

The Clearing

by Jane Kenyon

The dog and I push through the ring

of dripping junipers

to enter the open space high on the hill

where I let him off the leash.

He vaults, snuffling, between tufts of moss;

twigs snap beneath his weight; he rolls

and rubs his jowls on the aromatic earth;

his pink tongue lolls.

I look for sticks of proper heft

to throw for him, while he sits, prim

and earnest in his love, if it is love.

All night a soaking rain, and now the hill

exhales relief, and the fragrance

of warm earth. . . . The sedges

have grown an inch since yesterday,

and ferns unfurled, and even if they try

the lilacs by the barn can’t

keep from opening today.

I longed for spring’s thousand tender greens,

and the white-throated sparrow’s call

that borders on rudeness. Do you know—

since you went away

all I can do

is wait for you to come back to me.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53303/the-clearing-56d232799acee?fbclid=IwAR3ghE0hyAW0y5KBjMrtF0W61HFij63JaIgfP4mH6puNm9FtK4YCMr0sKZU

Poem: Alone for a Week

Alone for a Week

by Jane Kenyon

I washed a load of clothes

and hung them out to dry.

Then I went up to town

and busied myself all day.

The sleeve of your best shirt

rose ceremonious

when I drove in; our night-

clothes twined and untwined in

a little gust of wind.

For me it was getting late;

for you, where you were, not.

The harvest moon was full

but sparse clouds made its light

not quite reliable.

The bed on your side seemed

as wide and flat as Kansas;

your pillow plump, cool,

and allegorical. . . .

Poem: [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart]

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart]

by e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/49493/i-carry-your-heart-with-mei-carry-it-in?fbclid=IwAR2BRGaoEgP7Fx3sGfwqUCcCbaHCrJH4FHogQZs6nu-qrzuFUHOYGy5cQBk

Poem: Separation

Separation

by W.S. Merwin

Your absence has gone through me

Like thread through a needle.

Everything I do is stitched with its color.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/28891/separation-56d21285b2140?fbclid=IwAR1HEArIlMAowYA22qxnem641-n6igbvpG6gQLBmx9ABhkEy9etydzjB77s

Poem: This World is Not Conclusion (373)

This World is Not Conclusion (373) 
By Emily Dickinson
 

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond -
Invisible, as Music -
But positive, as Sound -

It beckons, and it baffles - 

Philosophy, dont know - 

And through a Riddle, at the last - 

Sagacity, must go -

To guess it, puzzles scholars -

To gain it, Men have borne

Contempt of Generations

And Crucifixion, shown -

Faith slips - and laughs, and rallies - 

Blushes, if any see - 

Plucks at a twig of Evidence - 

And asks a Vane, the way - 

Much Gesture, from the Pulpit -

Strong Hallelujahs roll - 

Narcotics cannot still the Tooth

That nibbles at the soul -

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47653/this-world-is-not-conclusion-373?fbclid=IwAR0fnRLFRYdmjUB0bJza6XV6K3j2bn8481wm8grwhuiGdqAEFFv9dvXv6Hg

Poem: FUNERAL BLUES

FUNERAL BLUES
by W.H Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.