For time and its non-linearity, from The Widening Spell of the Leaves.
from The Spell of the Leaves / by Larry Levis
Each morning she would watch her son, a boy of seven,
Yawn before mounting the steps, glinting like a sea,
When the doors of the school bus opened.
For creation, whatever the result, from Metamorphosis.
from Metamorphosis: Daedalus and Icarus / by Ovid, Publius Ovidius Naso, translated by Charles Martin
these were bound
together in the middle with flaxen thread
and then joined at the quills with molded wax;
and, finally, he bent them just a bit,
so they resembled bird’s wings.
For one thought may definitely hide another, and one glowing screen may definitely hide many, from One Train.
from One Train / by Kenneth Koch
One idea may hide another: Life is simple
Hide Life is incredibly complex, as in the prose of Gertude Stein
One sentence hides another and is another as well.
For a Monday without bells, and for a seat at my home desk, my tutu mouse smiling to see a human in the seat and to hear Miles Davis play, as Mr. Davis always does if one just tunes in, from Picnic, Lightning.
from In the Room of a Thousand Miles / by Billy Collins
I like writing about where I am,
where I happen to be sitting,
the humidity or the clouds,
the scene outside the window–
a pink tree in bloom,
a neighbor walking his small, nervous dog.
For whatever you celebrate and cherish, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Easter 1933 / by Haniel Long
Anyway, it’s good to stretch out
in the warm white sands,
one’s head in the shade of a dwarf tree,
and look at the Enchanted Mesa —
For bunnies and their babies everywhere, from The Runaway Bunny.
from The Runaway Bunny / by Margaret Wise Brown
“If you become a crocus in a hidden garden,”
said his mother, “I will be a gardener. And I will find you.”
For I’ve never grown lilies, though it’s our grandmother’s name, but the blue, pink, and dark red geraniums and the dark red, white, and climbing red roses are blooming in the courtyard and front yard, from Selected Poems.
from The Red Lily / by W.C. Williams
By the road, the river
the edge of the woods
–opening in the sun
closing with the dark–
everywhere
Red Lily
For rain and more rain, and I think they’ve declared us officially out of the drought for the moment, from poetryfoundation.org.
from Rain / by Edward Thomas
Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
For the season, which is of course, track & field season, from The House on Marshland.
from The Shad-blow Tree / by Louise Glück
One year he focused on a tree
until, through sunlight pure as never afterward, he saw
the season, early spring, work upon those limbs
its white flower
For grace, which arrives in all shapes and sizes, from Selected Poems.
from Grace / by James Tate
I was just beginning
to understand when one
who represented the desperate
shrunken state came toward
me, bisecting the whole mass
of concrete into triangles;
and handed me a package.
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