For Sappho, Mrs. Browning, and Lowell’s meditation on female poets, from No More Masks! An Anthology of Twentieth-Century American Women Poets (1993).
from The Sisters / by Amy Lowell
We are one family. And still my answer
Will not be any one of yours, I see.
Well, never mind that now. Good night! Good night!
For with the 108-degree weather, I’m thinking of holiday trees, from The Complete Poems.
from Chansons Innocentes II / by E. E. Cummings
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
For the upcoming holiday and weather and kings who wish for control of everything, even the weather, from Bartholmew and the Oobleck.
from Bartholomew and the Oobleck: (Magicians’ Chant) / by Dr. Seuss
‘Oh, snow and rain are not enough!
Oh, we must make some brand-new stuff!
So feed the fire with wet mouse hair,
Burn an onion. Burn a chair.
Burn a whisker from your chin.
And burn a long sour lizard skin….’
For creating a moment in a Tuesday passed, from The Voice That is Great Within Us (1970).
from About an Excavation / by E.E. Cummings
About an excavation
a flock of bright red lanterns
has settled.
For house sitting, a summer activity that can occur anywhere, even in 122-degree Palm Springs, which my sister, brother-in-law and niece did this week, from The Vintage Book of Contemporary American Poetry (1990).
from Staying at Ed’s Place / by May Swenson
I like being in your apartment, and not disturbing anything.
As in the woods I wouldn’t want to move a tree,
or change the play of sun and shadow on the ground.
For our summer traveler who loved his time on the road, from The New American Poetry, edited by Donald M. Allen (1960).
from 219th Chorus / by Jack Kerouac
Saints, I give myself up to thee.
Thou hast me. What mayest thou do?
For our memories, which we keep and share for a finite time, from Poem A Day: Volume 2, edited by Laurie Sheck, a perpetual calendar of poems; this one’s for a June 24.
from The Willows by the Water Side / by Anonymous, a Tewa Song, translated by Herbert Joseph Spinden
My little breath, under the willows by the water side we used to sit
And there the yellow cottonwood bird came and sang.
For folklore and translation, from Mouth to Mouth: Poems by Twelve Contemporary Mexican Women.
from Folklore / by Elena Milan, translated by Forrest Gander
Nevertheless, we go dancing through the streets
to the rhythm of rattles and clarinets with a thousand reeds,
between the toppling waves and their multicolored thunder
For who doesn’t love to do math in the summer? From Poetry 180.
from Numbers / by Mary Cornish
I like the domesticity of addition —
add two cups of milk and stir —
the sense of plenty: six plums
on the ground, three more
falling from the tree.
For Paris, from French Symbolist Poetry.
from Parisian Sketch / by Paul Verlaine
The moon was laying her plates of zinc
on the oblique.
Like figure fives the plumes of smoke
rose thick and black from the tall roof-peaks.
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