For the season, from poetryfoundation.org. The poem may be found at: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/53741.
from Christmas, 1970 / by Sandra M. Castillo
For the trees, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Christmas Trees / by Robert Frost
For rose of salt and carnations, from poetryfoundation.org.
from One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII / by Pablo Neruda, translated by Mark Eisner
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
PIA: from November 24, 2014.
For art and rain, from Poetry Magazine: The Translation Issue, November 2014. More here:
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/248974
from The Museum / by Yves Bonnefoy, translated by Mary Ann Caws
PIA: from November 27,2015.
For trees, from The Complete Poems of Howard Nemerov.
from Learning the Trees / by Howard Nemerov (1920-1991)
For I’m ever thankful for family and friends here and passed on, and ever thankful for our sun and moon and Earth and for poets and poetry and for John Berryman, especially The Dream Songs.
from The Dream Songs: 30 / by John Berryman
Is there anyone in the audience who has lived in vain?
For autumn, from poetryfoundation.org .
from The Beautiful Changes / by Richard Wilbur
The beautiful changes as a forest is changed
By a chameleon’s tuning his skin to it;
As a mantis, arranged
On a green leaf, grows
Into it, makes the leaf leafier, and proves
Any greenness is deeper than anyone knows.
For runners big and small, from The Twentieth Century Children’s Treasury, edited by Jack Prelutsky, and illustrated by Meilo So.
from Running Song / by Marci Ridlon
How the trees are
whizzing by.
Rushing rivers
run forever.
May I can
if I try.
For another rain dance for our empty canals, from Lupercal.
from Crow Hill / by Ted Hughes
The farms are oozing craters in
Sheer sides under the sodden moors:
When it is not wind it is rain
PIA: from an October 27.
For the season, from Ariel.
from The Moon and the Yew Tree / by Sylvia Plath
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary.
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
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