For the future I’d like to meet in each moment and not know a second ahead of time, from Poetry, October 2016.
from Time Traveler / by Patrick Cotter
Now is before he was born. Days of air
shaken by bees, crow song probing eaves
and quays. Maker of the future a perfect
terra-cotta tense, a tense which sings.
For many wishes for a kind and gentle first day of 2017, from poetryfoundation.org.
from New Year / by Bei Dao (Zhao Zhenkai), translated by David Hinton
For wishing you a Happy New Year’s Eve and a Happy New Year, from DPF and poetryfoundation.org.
from New Year’s Poem / by Margaret Avison
For the old year beginning to morph into the new, from Metamorphoses, translated by Charles Martin.
from Daedalus and Icarus / by Ovid
‘Though he may bar the earth
and seas,’ he said, ‘without a doubt, the sky
above is open; that is how we’ll go:
Minos rules everything except the air.’
For the week, from poetryfoundation.org. The rest of the poem may be found here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/55670#poem.
from on new year’s eve / by Evie Shockley
For the week, from Poetry, December 2016.
from Poem for the New Year / by Devin Johnston
what have I read
how many words
what facts
statistics biometrics
what data aggregation
what news
of wins and losses
For saying goodbye to family after the holidays, including goodbye to my sweet, wee little sis, from poetryfoundation.org.
from sisters / by Lucille Clifton
For ladybugs, from poetryfoundation.org.
from December / by Roger Pfingston
For a Merry Christmas or a happy whichever holiday you choose, from poetryfoundation.org.
from [little tree] / by e.e. Cummings
little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower
who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly
i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid
For the night, from The Night Before Christmas.
from The Night Before Christmas / by Clement C. Moore or Henry Livingston, Jr.
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.
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