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 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 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.
For the simple things, from Poem A Day, on the page for August 16.
from Alma in the Dark / by Linda Gregg (1942-)
He does not wake. Her heart in its nest
sings foolishly. It is awake and happy
and useless at the same time.
For our family’s last night of out-of-school summer tonight, from poets.org.
from Summer Stars / by Carl Sandburg
Bend low again, night of summer stars.
So near you are, sky of summer stars
For looking into pools of water and seeing things and other summer pastimes, from poets.org.
from For Once, Then, Something / by Robert Frost
Water came to rebuke the too clear water.
One drop fell from a fern, and lo, a ripple
Shook whatever it was lay there at bottom,
Blurred it, blotted it out.
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