Poetry Friday: "Advice to Writers" by Billy Collins

Recently, when I should have been writing, I did some cleaning instead. (Oh, you know this tired tale, don't you, Other Writers? I know you do.)

In this episode of "Writers Love to Procrastinate and Claim it's a Valid Step in the Process," I ditched mops, feather dusters, and closet organization for some intense digital clean-up. I tidied my blog and my website.

(They needed it. Really. This wasn't entirely procrastination. Ahem.) I created a new banner, spiffed up the sidebar info, changed my profile picture. (If I look particularly happy in the new one, it's because I was seeing Wicked with one of my daughters—again—on this past 4th of July. We had a fabulous day. And what an apt day it was for Wicked, that tale of injustice, discrimination, the power of friendship, and the necessity of fighting an oppressive, authoritarian regime. Happy 4th! But I digress.) I started thinking about Billy Collins's poem, "Advice to Writers." I always laugh at, "Clean the place as if the Pope were on his way./Spotlessness is the niece of inspiration." 

Would that it were so, O Poetry Gods! 

Advice to Writers

by Billy Collins 

Even if it keeps you up all night,
wash down the walls and scrub the floor
of your study before composing a syllable.

Clean the place as if the Pope were on his way.
Spotlessness is the niece of inspiration.

The more you clean, the more brilliant
your writing will be, so do not hesitate to take
to the open fields to scour the undersides

....

(Read the rest here, at The Marginalian.)

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

The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted by the lovely Linda Baie at TeacherDance. 

Photo courtesy of Michal Jarmoluk at Pixabay. 

Poetry Friday: "Dear Reader" by Billy Collins

It is far, far, far past time for some Billy Collins. I need him, don't you? 

And this one targets my readerly heart as if its poetic arrow is aimed to pierce me, only me. Because, well, it is. That's how poetry works. That's how Billy Collins works. That's how reading works. ❤️

Oh, how I love to read. Some of the books and writers who have been my sisters, brothers, kindred spirits, or heralds of surprise and fascination thus far in 2026 include: 

Memorial Days, Geraldine Brooks 

The Vaster Wilds, Lauren Groff

The Separation of Church and Hate, John Fugelsang

The Berry Pickers, Amanda Peters 

The Road to Tender Hearts, Annie Hartnett

Flashlight, Susan Choi

Homeschooled, Stefan Merrill Block  

As Collins says in the final line of this poem, books and I are on "a road we will always be traveling together." 

Who are you traveling with right now? What have you read in the last month? 

Dear Reader 

by Billy Collins 

Baudelaire considers you his brother,
and Fielding calls out to you every few paragraphs
as if to make sure you have not closed the book,
and now I am summoning you up again,
attentive ghost, dark silent figure standing
in the doorway of these words.

Pope welcomes you into the glow of his study,
takes down a leather-bound Ovid to show you.
Tennyson lifts the latch to a moated garden,
and with Yeats you lean against a broken pear tree,
the day hooded by low clouds.

But now you are here with me,
composed in the open field of this page,

....

(Read the rest here, at The Poetry Foundation.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Molly at Nix the Comfort Zone is hosting the Poetry Friday round-up today. 

Photo courtesy of Pexels. 

Poetry Friday: “Old Man Eating Alone in a Chinese Restaurant” by Billy Collins (and other thoughts on aging)

Last week, Tabatha, who happens to be the host of today’s Poetry Friday round-up, mentioned the poem she once wrote for me during a Summer Poem Swap. She touched and delighted me with “Imaginary Billy and I Discuss the Founding Documents.” And since I’m always delighted by the charming Mr. Collins, and since I’m working my way through one of his books for my morning poetry reading, it's only fitting that I share another bit of Billy for this week’s post. 

This one makes me think about how much we get wrong about “old people.” The older I get, the more I see (and experience for myself) the way we lump people of a certain age into a supposedly homogenous group. Elderly. Aged. Retired. Senior citizen. 

From my own experience of getting older, I know that “old people” are just people. People who have been on the planet for a particular amount of time. People who are funny, interesting, boring, grumpy, effervescent, insightful, ignorant, and all manner of wide-ranging personalities. They are people whose bodies keep surprising and betraying them, and believe me, they don’t like it anymore than anyone else does. (Not that I’d know this from personal experience, except, yes, I know this from personal experience.) In August of 2022, when we adopted our kitty, Maisy, the young woman at the animal shelter said, “And since you are over 60, you get the ‘elderly discount’ on the adoption fee.” This is me in 2022: 

And this was my expression when she told me I was elderly: 

I hadn’t felt that old since 2008, when Ramona was five years old and I shared this blog post: 

Anyway. 

I’ll grant you that my hair has gotten grayer in the last three years (what is with that hair at our temples?!) since that visit to the animal shelter, though I still don’t dye it as I’ve always thought coloring it would be too much trouble. But I still don’t feel elderly. I’m like the old man in the Chinese restaurant that Charming Billy introduces us to in this poem. For the most part, I’m livin’ my best life. 

Old Man Eating Alone in a Chinese Restaurant
by Billy Collins 

I am glad I resisted the temptation,
if it was a temptation when I was young,
to write a poem about an old man
eating alone at a corner table in a Chinese restaurant.

I would have gotten it all wrong
thinking: the poor bastard, not a friend in the world
and with only a book for a companion.
He'll probably pay the bill out of a change purse.

So glad I waited all these decades
to record how hot and sour the hot and sour
soup is here at Chang's this afternoon
and how cold the Chinese beer in a frosted glass.

….

(Read the rest here, at The Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Visit Tabatha at The Opposite of Indifference for the full round-up of poetic goodness this week. 

Poetry Friday: "Days" by Billy Collins

Just a bit of poignant beauty from Billy Collins today. 

Days

by Billy Collins 

Each one is a gift, no doubt, 

mysteriously placed in your waking hand 

or set upon your forehead 

moments before you open your eyes. 

Today begins cold and bright, 

the ground heavy with snow 

and the thick masonry of ice, 

the sun glinting off the turrets of clouds. 

Through the calm eye of the window 

everything is in its place 

but so precariously 

this day might be resting somehow 

on the one before it, 

....

(Read the rest here, at the Poetry Foundation.) 

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

The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted this week by the inimitable Tanita Davis. 

Photo courtesy of Nico Becker at Pexels. 

Poetry Friday: Billy Collins reads Lawrence Raab

On Wednesday's Poetry Broadcast, Billy Collins read a short poem called "One of the Ways We Talk to Each Other" by Lawrence Raab. (I can't find that one in print online, but you can hear Collins read it here, starting at the 29:00 minute mark.) As someone who's been married for 38 years, I appreciated the genuine peek into a moment of communication gone wrong, then set right. 

I also appreciated the introduction to Raab — I wasn't familiar with him at all — and it made me want to buy his latest collection, April at the Ruins. Poetry Foundation says, "Conversational yet precise, Raab’s lyrical meditations trace human fallibility and doubt." 

Ah, a few of my favorite things. 

Here's another one: 

Marriage
by Lawrence Raab

Years later they find themselves talking
about chances, moments when their lives
might have swerved off
for the smallest reason.

....

(Read the rest of this short one here, at Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~~~~~~

The inimitable Jama Rattigan is hosting the roundup this week. 

Poetry Friday: Billy Collins again (not because I forgot, but because he deserves it)

It's Billy Collins again. 

I could lie and say that I forgot I shared a Billy Collins poem last week, but that's not true. I just can't get enough of Billy Collins (that's always been true). 

So, not because I've forgotten, but rather because I love "Forgetfulness" (and can relate), here it is: 

Forgetfulness

by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.

(Read the rest here, at Poets.org.) 

And as long as we're on the subject of fading memories, we might need this today too: 

            

~~~~~~~~~~

 Don't forget to visit Linda Baie, who has the roundup at TeacherDance. 

Poetry Friday: "Days" by Billy Collins

It's been far too long since I shared anything by Billy Collins. It's time, people, it's time! Days are precious and every day without Billy Collins is a day with a hole in it. 

I love the way this poem delicately walks the line between gratitude and sheer, existential terror. 

And, in case you didn't know, here's a thing you should know: 

Billy Collins does "The Poetry Broadcast" every day on Facebook. 

Days
by Billy Collins

Each one is a gift, no doubt,
mysteriously placed in your waking hand
or set upon your forehead
moments before you open your eyes.

....

Through the calm eye of the window

everything is in its place 

but so precariously 

this day might be resting somehow 

on the one before it, 

all the days of the past stacked high

like the impossible tower of dishes 

entertainers used to build on stage. 

(Read the whole thing here, at The Poetry Foundation.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

 Elisabeth has the round-up at Unexpected Intersections. 

Poetry Friday: "Books" by Billy Collins

I'm in the middle of a buddy read. Well, to be more precise, I'm a third of the way into a buddy read. My daughters and I are reading this trilogy (a reread for three of us, a new read for Ramona): 

Ramona has never read this series. What?? 

But she decided this was the summer to dive in. So Anne-with-an-e, Betsy, and I decided to jump in and reread them, too. Not that we need an incentive to stay in close to touch with the now-married-and-living-elsewhere Betsy, but we all decided that buddy reads would be a fun aspect of our in-touch-staying. And we're just about ready for our discussion of the first book. I can't wait! 

The Hunger Games series has a long history in our house. Some of my thoughts on the entire series are here. 

And then there was the time that Betsy finished Mockingjay and woke me up at 2:30 a.m. to discuss it. Which I happily did. 

And in this discussion of Mockingjay, then-8-yr.-old Ramona left this comment on the blog: 

Ramona here, dictating to Betsy:

I personally have never read The Hunger Games, but, I don't want to have anything to do with it. At all. Whatsoever. Because I do not want to have anything to do with it, I very much loathe Karen Edmisten. So I say farewell to all of you, and I love you very much.

Dramatization. I really actually love Karen Edmisten.

Obviously, she was not allowed to read them at that age, so she greatly disliked how much everyone else was talking about them. I can't blame her for feeling like she wasn't part of the club. But now, she's in the club. She's almost finished with the first book and can't wait to get to Catching Fire. And I can't wait to have all sorts of rich discussion again. 

As Stephen King said, "Books are a uniquely portable magic." 

Billy Collins captures the magic, too, in his practically-perfect-in-every-way poem, "Books." 

Books 

by Billy Collins 

From the heart of this dark, evacuated campus

I can hear the library humming in the night, 

an immense choir of authors muttering inside their books 

....

(Read the whole thing here, at the Poetry Foundation.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Be sure to visit Kat Apel for the Poetry Friday round-up. 

Poetry Friday: I'm hosting!

No matter what is happening in your life today, I prescribe a little Billy Collins. He makes everything better, including being as old as Cheerios.

There is something utterly charming about Billy Collins discovering that he was as old as this humble, reliable cereal. He made me want to go in search of products that are my age. I'm not quite as old as Cheerios, but I did find out I am as old as: 

the Etch a Sketch

Chatty Cathy 

Bubble Wrap

Starburst candy 

Six-pack rings 

I am the same age as the Etch a Sketch. 

(Indeed, I am a few months older than the Etch a Sketch.)

There may be a poem in this. I'll keep you posted. 

Cheerios

by Billy Collins 

One bright morning in a restaurant in Chicago

as I waited for my eggs and toast,

I opened the Tribune only to discover

that I was the same age as Cheerios.

Indeed, I was a few months older than Cheerios

(Read the rest here, at The Poetry Foundation.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm hosting the round-up! 

Leave your link and, if you like, let me know about something that was invented or introduced the year you were born. :)

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

Poetry Friday: Billy Collins and John O'Donnell

I was in the mood for some Billy Collins so I went in search of my hero. 

I found him at the New York Times, talking to Cheryl Strayed. 

He mentioned a poem called "When," by John O'Donnell, 

so obviously I now have to share that with you. 

So, what was going to be a Billy Collins post is still 

a Billy Collins post, but now it's Billy+. 

Plus a little heart-wrenching, but that's Poetry Friday in a pandemic. 

(The transcript of the interview is here.)

When

by John O'Donnell

And when this ends we will emerge, shyly

and then all at once, dazed, longhaired as we embrace

loved ones the shadow spared, and weep for those

it gathered in its shroud. A kind of rapture, this longed-for 

....

(Read the rest here.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Carol Varsalona is hosting the round-up at Beyond LiteracyLink. 

Poetry Friday: Billy Collins, W.B. Yeats, MRIs, and Knowing Poems by Heart

I picked up Light the Dark: Writers on Creativity, Inspiration, and the Artistic Process last night and skipped straight to the Billy Collins contribution, "Into the Deep Heart's Core." I decided on the spot that I must (yes, must, because what if I need an MRI someday?) memorize "The Lake Isle of Innisfree."

Don't fret. This isn't a medical post, and I don't need an MRI —you'll get the MRI reference when you read the piece. And, happily, I can send you directly to that piece, because the book grew out of Joe Fassler's "By Heart" series in The Atlantic, and you can find the Billy Collins piece here.

A few shimmering gems:

It’s a powerful, unexpected statement of a simple sentiment: I want to go somewhere better than where I am.

Poetry’s kind of a mixture of the clear and the mysterious. It’s very important to know when to be which: what to be clear about and what to leave mysterious.

And yet I think poetry is as important today as it’s ever been, despite its diminished public stature. Its uses become obvious when you read it. Poetry privileges subjectivity. It foregrounds the interior life of the writer, who is trying to draw in a reader. And it gets readers into contact with their own subjective life. This is valuable, especially now.

And of course, listen to Yeats read "The Lake Isle of Innisfree."


Arise and go now, and read Billy Collins on the joy of memorization.

And memorize something. Because you never know when you're going to be in a "very high-tech coffin," in need of a beautiful and useful distraction.


The Lake Isle of Innisfree
William Butler Yeats

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

~~~~~~~~~~

The inimitable and amazing Jama Rattigan has the round-up this week at Alphabet Soup. 

Poetry Friday: Marginalia, by Billy Collins

Are you a marginalia type? Or a notes-in-a-separate-notebook reader? Do you use post-its? Do you dog-ear? What do you think of book darts? (Thanks, Anne Bogel, these might change my life.) Do you leave your own books in pristine condition, but enjoy eavesdropping on the marginalia of others, via a heavily used book?

Whoever you are, whatever you read, however you scribble, Billy Collins gets it.

Marginalia
by Billy Collins

Sometimes the notes are ferocious,
skirmishes against the author
raging along the borders of every page
in tiny black script.
If I could just get my hands on you,
Kierkegaard or Conor Cruise O'Brien,
they seem to say,
....
(Read the rest here, at the Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~

Carol Varsalona has the round up this week at Beyond LiteracyLink.

Billy Friday

Photo courtesy of: Marcelo Noah, of D.G. Wills Books, 
and WikiMedia Commons. 

Heidi Mordhorst, this week's Poetry Friday host, is having an all-Billy Birthday Extravaganza. It's a Collins-fest, an All-Billy-All-The-Time post, a Billy Collins Friday...Huzzah!

Heidi encouraged everyone to post a favorite Collins poem. Of course, it's impossible to choose just one favorite Collins poem. I am practically paralyzed by the proposal. I was going to share that painfully cute little boy reciting "Litany" because that's definitely one of my favorites. But Heidi had the same great idea (do go listen to him), so I am on to something else. Should I choose "Marginalia"? "Passengers"? "Today"? What about "Aimless Love"? Or maybe "Books." What about "Morning"? I love that one so much.

(Don't make me choose!)

Deep breath.

Okay, so, this one is not necessarily my favorite Billy Collins poem. Really, naming a favorite would be akin to saying I have a favorite child, just impossible. But I love this poem almost as much as I love my three favorite children. (That's hyperbole, by the way, for anyone scandalized by the idea that I love a poem as much as I love my offspring. Hyperbole is one of my favorite words -- don't ask me, though, to choose just one favorite word.)

I think I forgot what the point of this post was.

What was it? Oh, yes.

"Forgetfulness."

I had forgotten how much I love it.

Forgetfulness
by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
....

(Read the whole thing here, at Poets.org.)

~~~~~

Visit Heidi for loads of Collinsesque goodness.

Poetry Friday: I'm Hosting! (And getting this post up on Thursday evening for you plan-ahead types.)

We're anticipating a snow day tomorrow as Winter Storm Quid (really?) makes its way across the country. Personally, I'm tired of Winter Storm Fill-in-Silly-Name and I'm ready for Spring-Day-That-Is-Insanely-Lovely. 

Oh, wait. We got that on Tuesday of this week when it was 70 degrees. Quota met for February, I guess. Moving on to another revolution of snow. At least we have Billy Collins to keep us company. 

Snow Day 
by Billy Collins

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
....
(Read the whole thing here, at The Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~

I have the round up today!

Mr. Linky is handling the links for me:

Thanks for stopping by!

Poetry Friday: Spring and Today

Photo thanks to FreeImages.

Because it's spring. 

Because Atticus will soon be home for the summer. 

(I can almost taste his cooking.)

Because we are all in need of a break. 

Because Billy Collins is Billy Collins. 

Because. 

Today
by Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
....

(Read the whole thing here, at the Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~

Margaret has the round up at Reflections on the Teche.

Poetry Friday: Quintessential Collins

This poem encompasses everything I love about Billy Collins. This is Collins at his most Collinsesque -- witty and self-deprecating while simultaneously offering us exquisitely expressed images as if they were a bouquet of wildflowers, and finishing off with a truth that any lover of words can embrace and affirm. Enjoy!

Memorizing “The Sun Rising” by John Donne
by Billy Collins

Every reader loves the way he tells off
the sun, shouting busy old fool
into the English skies even though they
were likely cloudy on that seventeenth-century morning.

(Read the whole thing here, at the Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~

The inimitable Jama Rattigan is hosting the round up today at Jama's Alphabet Soup. 

Poetry Friday: Billy Collins

Because it's January (and I'm already tired of snow on the ground.)

Because Billy Collins makes me happy. (You need only combine the words "Billy" and "Collins" and I will smile stupidly.)

Because this little guy (whom I first discovered about four and a half years ago) makes me laugh every time I listen to him.

Because poetry is magic.

Litany
by Billy Collins

(More of his recitations here.)

The Poetry Friday round up is Reading to the Core. 

Forgetfulness, by Billy Collins (Or, I Almost Forgot It Was Poetry Friday)

My memory is a frightening thing these days. I used to have an excellent memory. When I was younger, when I was single, when I was newly in the workplace, newly married, my memory was formidable. There was so much less to keep track of in those days. Fewer people, fewer responsibilities, and no meal plans, only take-out.

The other day, in response to a friend's question about Halloween, I proceeded to talk about the evening as if he had no idea what'd gone on at our house. In fact, he had stood in my dining room and I had snapped pictures of his children -- Harry Potter, a ninja, Anna, and an owl -- before they went trick-or-treating.

My memory is a frightening thing these days. (Did I say that already?)

"Come read this poem by Billy Collins," I just now said to Atticus.

"Another one?" he asked.

"Did I already have you read a Billy Collins poem this morning?"


Forgetfulness
by Billy Collins

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,

as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
....

(Read the whole thing here, at Poets.org.)

~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Write. Sketch. Repeat. 

(Photo courtesy of FreeImages.com.) 

Poetry Friday: Today, by Billy Collins

Photo: FreeImages.com

Ramona and I were at a park yesterday, and the air was charged with perfection.

Today?

Revel, run, repeat.

Today
by Billy Collins

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

(Read the whole poem here, at The Poetry Foundation.)

~~~~~

Ellen Leventhal has the round up. 

It's Billy Time

I first thanked this little guy about three and a half years ago.* He made my day then, and he's making it again today.

Litany
by Billy Collins

(More of his recitations here.)

The Poetry Friday round up is at A Teaching Life.

~~~~~

*Thanks to the Poetry Foundation, a place I love for putting "poetry" and "foundation" together.