![]() ![]() ![]() As for the sky, I am so wildly / in love with each day’s inventions, cool blue / or cat gray or full / of the ships of clouds, I simply can’t / say whatever it is I am saying without / a least one skyful. “Of What Surrounds Me.” Whatever it is I am saying, I always / need a leaf or a flower, if not an / entire field. Which is not likely to be the trifling around with a poem” (6). What are we sure of? Happiness isn’t a town on a map, or an early arrival, or a job well done, but good work ongoing. The robins had a long time singing, and now it was beginning to rain. ![]() There I was, books piled on both sides of the table, paper stacked up, words falling off my tongue. ![]() “Work, Sometimes.” “I was sad all day, and why not. I have talked about her in several reviews, so this one will only include selections from volume two. If I have a model to follow, it would most certainly be Mary Oliver. The connection I have to her poems is ethereal and pleasing in every sense of the word. I recently found Mary Oliver’s collection New and Selected Poems: Volume Two. I’m Jim McKeown, welcome to Likely Stories, a weekly review of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and biographies. A collection of new and selected works by one of today’s finest poets. ![]()
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