For crossings and prose poetry, from The Tunnel. And, for July, an experiment. I’m going to try Play-It-Again July, in which I look through my DPF archives and replay some favorites, daily.
from The Bridge / by Russell Edson
Tomorrow we cross the bridge. I’ll write to you from the other side if I can; if not, look for a sign…
For gratitude for spectacles, from Tsim, Tsum.
from The 10 Stages of Beatrice / by Sabrina Orah Mark
The possibility that she is not alive, in this stage, never enters her mind. This stage is only possible if the spectacle comes to town.
For children who think and think and will say, if someone asks. From Faithful and Virtuous Night.
from Faithful and Virtuous Night / by Louise Glück
Of course, in a certain sense I was not empty-handed:
I had my colored pencils.
In another sense, that is my point:
I had accepted substitutes.
For those unexpected visitors, rhymes when you least expect them, from The Best of It.
from Deer / by Kay Ryan
To lure a single swivel ear,
one tentative twig of a leg,
or a nervous tail here,
is to mark this place
as the emperor’s park,
rife, I say rife, with deer.
For newborns, from What Work Is.
from Among Children / by Philip Levine
There was such wonder
in their sleep, such purpose in their eyes
closed against autumn, in their damp heads
blurred with the hair of ponds, and not one
turned against me or the light, not one
said, I am sick, I am tired, I will go home,
not one complained or drifted alone,
unloved, on the hardest day of their lives.
For the love of chicken wire and parts of boxes, from The Collected Poems of William Carlos Williams: Volume I, 1909-1939.
from Pastoral / by William Carlos Williams
will believe this
of vast import to the nation.
For dreams, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Lullaby / by Maggie Dietz
If I had a ginko tree
I’d climb it in the evening.
If I had a marmoset
He’d climb the tree with me.
For librarians and libraries, from What Work Is.
from Agnus Dei / by Philip Levine
There was weeping and gnashing. The lamb escaped
through an expensive, leaded windowpane
and entered the late afternoon flying low
over the houses
For the beauty of Chinese poetry, from Negative Blue.
from After Reading Wang Wei, I go Outside to the Full Moon / by Charles Wright
Back here, old snow like lace cakes,
Candescent and brittle now and then through the tall grass.
For childhood and its many varieties, some endless ones and some too brief, from What Work Is.
from Growth / by Philip Levine
Then out to the open weedy yard
among the waiting and emptied drums
where I hammered and sawed, singing
my new life of working and earning,
outside in the fresh air of Detroit
in 1942, a year of growth.