For AW

The kernel of shadow is said to create
emotional correlations
of the terrain beset with buoyant
adjectival padding
and painting’s lines of song.
If poetry is pentameter,
it is the poem’s
ambiguities that thread visually imbued
circumstances: the
unintelligible rebuke. The fire does not even
heart attack a person
of cultural topics, out-loud speaking abstractions.

What an
element of hyperbolic being brought vividly to
our ears, this language, the task.

Furthermore, a parable



is, in reality, a
song:
the verbal rupture, creature


signifying more than one thing.

For VC-S

We come from
conversation no conclusion not frivolous;
writing a standpoint. One
common vision maintains Rilke’s tenderness moving
singing from the outset
down to the children
to the poet’s gift.
You have to slow down beloved,
but not far from the poem of your own.
English like rain, soon turns
into the ocean

but something closer
with time. By
now close they’re
beautiful out in the
fish,
after all, and two letters,
days.

For OD

One, against conventions,
makes the way the staying.
And the comfort lovelorn
with the past,
but not a tragic game, not hers; she dis-
rupted


the first divorce of
body
and the

biographical
moment.
This serves all creatures with the feeling of sheer, equally
great desolation, honed according to the praise of poetics.


By anti-poem she wrote for praise.

For LM

This lyric unable to dress
suburban America –
observing a
hawk,
forests,



the exclamation
of all




the woman’s

questions, reflecting
words, woe
a corner with a voice.


We
purchased
6000 poets
young and yet meaningful.

Every reading is unique.

For VP: an Editor

He watches the person
the confessional extending
away in all sorts of images
wonderful but
passing somehow
memories, and rhythms, grown apart.



Words like recreation of celebration
resemble passion whose fructifying mimics the
sensual frolic created: the dynamic somnambulists

edited by memory.

The vow of urban phenomena contradicts its
forces with the scars and
promise of a landscape of wonders
beguiling on a grand scale.
Our loved river seems just like
our ears even after our eyes read
these questions of the
touch
unlikely.

For GE

The poet has metaphors that light,
unlike the finite lovers in sensation.
The poets stop beauty – they struggle
to understand inevitable loss, and
ancient community.
Not-thinking I walked blithely through the poem three
midnight moment’s
coarse-grained
with consonants:
walking gray manner.

With sudden knowledge
something uncanny
now tells me it is the task of the poet

to touch,

leave the page.

For AM: a Traveler

Just conceptual
doubt refuses to act in the
God and love,
unsentimentality intact.

In more than we do
our mind
who, notwithstanding
simplicity
finds his victim;
trying to make sense of
lost paradises in the scale of
an overture. I wonder
reclusive the roadside regardless of
religious gatherings or famous battlefields.

There is a woman’s dance
still preached today: “arm-linkings” stealthily, repeated the flaring match and
“didst the half of me burn extraordinary with the most limitless, spirit of inside” international controversy. But in the end, her fiercely ordinary dreams do,
before a final flourish face possibility.

For T-L W: A dark night

Two diary entries, diction in parallel.
We must be new translations of two infidelities.
The mother still two “we’s” in both loss and realization
because we are (figuratively) dying
from start to finish: We begin with
tears and poverty, her nose “a weapon.”
We are told
courageous
sentiment,
someone else’s voice, but graduate
discouraged and unknown to her event.
Whether she has contributed feeling to it, she creates body, now gushing, now slowing
joining Daddy, severing eyes and ears;
we thought we were not capable of
needs, wants, to live as a poet. In that way, she re-be-comes
the setting sun,
annihilates
the rules.

For SM and KS

Tavern, midnight and anoraks…

Let me count the haughty gesture zealously
picking up the ranks of a singer
nameless, yet expressed
and, to some degree

melting toward their music.

I can’t help eluding widowhood countless times, but
regardless of the darkness, he wishes he
were published on this earth.

Not-drinking
is destructive, causes
Nazism and
melopeia Revels,


most pressing issues.

For TM and JM

The poem ends stronger and entirely new, roguish with meaning which has a voice
unconventional, MacKenzie laden and mischievous, dominant, artfully diminishing.
The divine sentenced to the fifth line: purpose and phrases like “bitter boroughs
are kept out of our hot little tilt” a fragment likewise unknown,
is known, and we must pass it daring
natural things. This
fox is playing
up.

For PB-A

There’s no room so liberating as writing,
provided productive landscapes of subject matter, 52-line dramatic
Canadian poetics. But the poem itself is our identity – as
scribe – or, rather, someone learning to translate a timelessness.
Mermaid most powerful
with the flick of speech,
both hands conjured up as those adjectives
in ritual together.

In fact and lyrical grandeur we get exactly
the phrasal peculiarities of
The University of Toronto
as in Far From Kingdoms.

For OL

Look
up a fissure in
affinity –
true
devotional
mirror: if the missing tooth,
which at one time thrived in capitals,
remains suffering – is
sobbing, trying to hold back tears
its opposite, ripeness
is found in the
panic.
Emerging from the
crescendo of adjectives
the thought is bold
and of lovers and
life’s violators.
You
permit him to retrieve her from
bleak entangle-dialect
synchrony with an old penny, a
few lines repeated. The girl
might appear separate while others
surrender more easily to the poetry.
It reminds me
to claim the
almost hyperbolic
brother
body
heavy-hearted
with independent
loneliness.

For AL: a Depression

In this last moment all the interested parties
want for meaning.
Call it the deepest kind of social rites
between the real and the gaudy abstract mind.

But once the diction is plain
the ice flies too close to the sun; excruciating grief

is recognizable in our own rehabilitative striving
past and a set of
fragmentary
inventions
thoughts and feelings.

For ND: a Dirty Knitty Thing

Not only pussycats, plays
surprisingly vulnerable
act as a fount for the
charms of
mother duck and her young.
In feminist poetics,
the end of the spontaneous overflow, if you will,
is not a conceptual work.
Whatever side was cold between
Gertrude Stein and Goethe’s simile
was astonished by the satisfactions
from someone else. He may
remember in the bonds of her gushing
crafted cock an apparently emotional love
of vulgar lapses, the perceptions constructed
in Brussels a way against that guffawing sexual
shriek, they return unpoetic in
nature and function. Both poets sense it
pseudonymous in bed: hair for complexity,
the hole the latest gizmo and its significance
easy to miss. Before he has entered whole
she will melt and he run the gamut
from the back of the landscape of snow.

For KMH

Book about the irresistible longing
poem to the greatest forest.
Their language, sound and rhythm
not the usual description of comfort; they are

densely stark tropes opening the rocky Aegean
at the end of the ritualistic war.

As we get near disruption, the mouth moves of himself.

For JD: a Goodbye

Publishers turn up at the party
breathing close for certain temperaments,
contemporaries to the underworld.

How rarely bestseller lists ought to
slow us down, impurifying the syntax
with ironic purpose. Every poem

At first appears a gritty, comical
formality, a face as “thine,”
a regular death. I first read

Sylvia Plath at the latest tour to Lorca
in winter rain and fresh-salt water
anthologies. Metaphor allows a meta-sunset


being put out. Matches,
privilege or perfection.