For somehow, it’s a Bishop kind of day, the kind of day when seals carry hymns to the ocean floor, from The Collected Poems.
from At the Fishhouses / by Elizabeth Bishop
For gnomes and magical thinking of all kinds, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Shroud of the Gnome / by James Tate
And what amazes me is that none of our modern inventions
surprise or interest him, even a little.
For the sonnet and its ability to hold a moment, a memory, and a loved one alive forever in its tiny Pensieve, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Sonnet 18 / by William Shakespeare
For a favorite, from poets.org.
from Tulips / by Sylvia Plath
For the moon and the sun, from The Star By My Head.
from Sung / by Gunnar Ekelöf, translated by Malena Mörling and Jonas Ellerström
The night tonight is a starry clear one.
The air is clean and cold.
The moon is searching in all things
for its lost inheritance.
For a belated day and what we would say to our younger selves if we could, from The Star By My Head.
from Hold Him There / by Bruno K. Öijer, translated by Malena Mörling and Jonas Ellerström
without thinking
I had phoned my childhood
listened to the dial tone that went through
and when my mom answered
I asked to speak to myself
after a long while
a seven year old boy took the receiver
and his voice pierced my heart
For our sun, and for a poet with the same last name as our grandparents had, from poets.org.
from Sci-Fi / by Tracy K. Smith
Eons from even our own moon, we’ll driftIn the haze of space, which will be, onceAnd for all, scrutable and safe.
For Back-to-School, Week #2, from a favorite poet, and from poets.org.
from Theme for English B / by Langston Hughes
It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
For the chickens near my classroom which remind me of my grandparents’ home on top of a Kentucky mountain, from Kevin’s Much-Loved Poems.
from Nostalgia/ by Billy Collins
Remember the 1340s? We were doing a dance called the Catapult.
You always wore brown, the color craze of the decade,
and I was draped in one of those capes that were popular,
the ones with unicorns and pomegranates in needlework.
For the silvers and golds of summer, from poets.org.
from Back Yard / by Carl Sandburg
Shine on, O moon of summer.
Shine to the leaves of grass, catalpa and oak,
All silver under your rain to-night.
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