For wouldn’t you know it, she would think of manifesting dreams, from The Best of It. I just call it Awwwwww-w-p. Dream a little dream for all the poets & writers!
from How Successful Can She Afford to Be? / by Kay Ryan
Maybe the mime’s test
would be to get you to drink
from the glass she passed.
For every day is a good day for Ms. Mark, from Tsim Tsum.
from The Disasters / by Sabrina Orah Mark
Beatrice decided it was time to commodify her disasters. She spread each one out on the floor and studied them. Some would open. Some would not. Outside, the humans sailed past each other like thin discarded boats.
For museums, from The Doll Collection, edited by Diane Lockwood.
from In the Chair Museum / by Leah Browning
A few months later, I dreamed that I was a doll,
walking on my little legs through the chair museum.
For this day just keeps going and returning, which, as they say, and depending, is better than the alternative, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Monday / by Lisa Robertson
What we praise we believe, we fully believe. Very fine. Belief thin and pure and clear to the title. Very beautiful. Belief lovely and elegant and fair for the footing. Very brisk. Belief lively and quick and strong by the bursting. Very bright.
For Super Bowl LI Sunday, from another Ohioan, and from poetryfoundation.org.
from football dreams / by Jacqueline Woodson
For love of the arts, from One Train.
from Aesthetics of Cézanne / by Kenneth Koch
To have painted
the apples
that were in
the orchard
For memory and the love of dolls, from The Doll Collection, edited by Diane Lockward.
from Carriage / by Akua Lezli Hope
I had my own baby carriage
for my baby dolls to ride in
a fine, four-wheel thing
with padded handlebar and springs
mattress and folding canopy
For it seems like a good day for muses and a peaceful beach scene, from Mermaids in the Basement.
from A Muse of Water / by Carolyn Kizer
Discover the deserted beach
where ghosts of curlews safely wade
For sometimes Tate is the only answer, from Selected Poems.
from Conjuring Roethke / by James Tate
Hello again mad turnip.
Let’s tango together
down to the clear
glad river.
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