paul's corner

rss RSS

About Paul

Unique selections of books from our book buyer Paul Ingram. He compiles great lists of books on varying topics.

If you have any requests for recommendations, send Paul an email at paul@prairielights.com

  • National Poetry Month and Happy Earth Day

    Selected Poems Theodore Roethke

     MOSS-GATHERING

    To loosen with all ten fingers held wide and limber
    And lift up a patch, dark-green, the kind for lining cemetery baskets,
    Thick and cushiony, like an old fashioned dormat,
    The crumbling small hollow sticks on the underside mixed with roots,
    And wintergreen berries and leaves still stuck to the top,
    That was moss-gathering.

    But something always went out of me when I dug loose those carpets
    Of green, or plunged to my elbows in the spongy yellowish moss of the marshes;
    And afterwards I always felt mean, jogging back over the logging road,
    As if I had broken the natural order of things in that swampland;
    Disturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,
    By pulling off flesh from the living planet;
    As if I had committed, against the whole scheme of life, a desecration.

        --Theodore  Roethke from Selected Poems

  • Paul's Corner: National Poetry Month

    Mercy Lucille Clifton

    "oh antic God"
    BY LUCILLE CLIFTON

    oh antic God 
    return to me 
    my mother in her thirties   
    leaned across the front porch   
    the huge pillow of her breasts   
    pressing against the rail 
    summoning me in for bed. 

    I am almost the dead woman’s age times two. 

    I can barely recall her song 
    the scent of her hands 
    though her wild hair scratches my dreams   
    at night.   return to me, oh Lord of then   
    and now, my mother’s calling, 
    her young voice humming my name.

     

    from Lucille Clifton's Mercy

  • Paul's Corner: National Poetry Month

    Collected Poems Donald Justice

    On the Death of Friends in Childhood
    BY DONALD JUSTICE

    We shall not ever meet them bearded in heaven, 
    Nor sunning themselves among the bald of hell; 
    If anywhere, in the deserted schoolyard at twilight, 
    Forming a ring, perhaps, or joining hands 
    In games whose very names we have forgotten. 
    Come, memory, let us seek them there in the shadows.

     

    from Collected Poems by Donald Justice