For the new month, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Lines written under the conviction that it is not wise to read Mathematics in November after one’s fire is out / by JAMES CLERK MAXWELL
Round about the marshes low,
Stiffening students stumping go
Shivering through their flannel.
For pointy hats and black cats, from Poetry, March, 1926.
from One Time At Salem / by Louise Webster
She said that she could make a moon
And some folks knew it,
And if they didn’t mend their ways
She’d up and do it.
Among so many unforgettable images and moments, let this one be for the rain. From Citizen, by Claudia Rankine.
from I / by Claudia Rankine
The rain this morning pours from the gutters and everywhere else it is lost in the trees.
For clocks whose hands move backwards, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Grand Central, Track 23 / by Elizabeth Skurnick
The laureled, relentless clocks. The sceptered row
Of columns dreams one o’clock, immense,
Inviolate. What time is it? I don’t know.
For plumage and threads, from Selected Translations, by W.S. Merwin.
from Absence / by Jean Follain (1903-1971, French)
one leaf taking wing
only the man has to know how long it will take
For autumn, from poetryfoundation.org.
from For the Chipmunk in My Yard / by Robert Gibb
He’s lucky
To be where he is, wild with all that happens.
For insanity and dreams, from The Star By My Head: Poets from Sweden, edited and translated by Malena Mörling and Jonas Ellerström.
from The Dream / by Werner Aspenstrom (1918-1997)
If you don’t dream you’ll go insane.
But mid-dream you’re awakened by your common sense,
who orders a full English breakfast.
For pumpkin soup, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Days of 1994: Alexandrians / by Marilyn Hacker, b. 1942
Four months (I say) I’ll see her, see him again.
(I dream my life; I wake to contingencies.)
Now I walk home along the river,
into the wind, as the clouds break open.
For magazines and dreams, from The Oxford Book of American Poetry, edited by David Lehman.
from X Minus X / by Kenneth Fearing
Still there will be your desire, and her desire, and his
desire, and their desire,
your laughter, their laughter
For the bins and bins of them, from Poetryfoundation.org.
from A Pumpkin at New Year’s / by Sandra McPherson
It was time too to leave you uncut and full-featured,
Like the grandpa of twenty-five pumpkins in my past
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