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.
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 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 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
For collars and chambers, from Villanelles, edited by Annie Finch and Marie – Elizabeth Mali.
from Tonight / by Suzanne Gardinier, b. 1961
tomorrow, the defiant cavalcade.
Someone is writing a sermon tonight.
For fall, from poetryfoundation.org.
from In October 1914 (Antwerp) / by Ford Maddox Ford
L’Envoi
And it was for this that they endured this gloom;
This October like November,
That August like a hundred thousand hours,
And that September,
A hundred thousand dragging sunlit days,
And half October like a thousand years. . .
For language, from Villanelles, edited by Annie Finch and Marie – Elizabeth Mali.
from The Grammar Lesson / by Steve Kowit
A noun’s a thing. A verb’s the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In “The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz,”
For basketball and yesterdays, from Villanelles, edited by Annie Finch and Marie -Elizabeth Mali.
from For Lindsay Whalen / by Stephen Burt, b. 1971
The shots you make surround you like a breeze.
When someone wins, then someone has to lose.
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