For one of those days, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Memories Are A House / by Avot Yeshurun (1904-1999), t
For a funny but sad scene, from Paris Spleen, by Charles Baudelaire.
from Cake / by Charles Baudelaire, translated by Louise Varese
But why describe the hideous fight which lasted longer than their childish strength had seemed to warrant? The cake traveled from hand to hand and changed pockets at every instant, changing, alas! in size as well…
For coronals of sugar roses, from The Collected Poems, by Sylvia Plath.
from The Beekeeper’s Daughter / by Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)
Trumpet-throats open to the beaks of birds.
The Golden Rain Tree drips its powders down.
In these little boudoirs streaked with orange and red
The anthers nod their heads, potent as kings
To father dynasties. The air is rich.
Here is a queenship no mother can contest —
For, finally, the rain on our drought, and the poem it leads me to each time, from poets.org. The rest of the poem may be found here:
https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/somewhere-i-have-never-travelledgladly-beyond
from somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond / by e.e. cummings (1894 – 1962)
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
For more dreams, from 77 Dream Songs, by John Berryman. Here’s the first one.
from Dream Song: 1 / by John Berryman (1914-1972)
What he has now to say is a long
wonder the world can bear & be.
For winter birds, from poetryfoundation.org. The rest of the poem may be found here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/30876
from White-Eyes / by Mary Oliver, b. 1935
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.
For wind and woods and wishes for rain and prayers for those with too much of it, from poetryfoundation.org.
from January Drought / by Conor O’Callaghan
For Tennessee and yellow-coated gems, from poetryfoundation.org.
from A January Dandelion / by George Marion McClellan (1860-1934)
Happy New Year, 2016! From poetryfoundation.org.
from New Year / by Bei Dao, translated by David Hinton and Yanbing Chen
a child carrying flowers walks toward the new year
a conductor tattooing darkness
listens to the shortest pause
Well, let the repeats begin a day early. I have a request for “hope” on this most hope – filled night of the year. So, it must be dear Emily. Happy New Year’s Eve.
from “Hope” is the thing with feathers / by Emily Dickinson
“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
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