For a late Sunday evening in which the teenager, in the company of and watched over by kindness and grace, makes it home safely from the fair, from The Collected Poems of Weldon Kees.
from Praise to the Mind / by Weldon Kees
Praise to the mind
That moves toward meaning,
Kindness; mixes keenness
With routine of
Grace, has space,
And finds its place.
For dreams, from Journey in Dreams and Imagination.
from The plain seems / by Artur Lundkvist
The plain seems almost like a desert, with sparse grass in the sand, and a wagon covered with a vault of sailcloth as in the Old West is seen traveling away, toward the sharply cut, harshly blue mountains
For summer, from Gathering the Bones Together.
from The Transformation / by Gregory Orr
At night the house fills with seawater,
and you become a gigantic turtle.
For yesterday’s visit to Santa Cruz, from poetryfoundation.org.
from The Dogs at Live Oak Beach, Santa Cruz / by Alicia Ostriker
Teeth into floating wood
Then bound back to their owners
Shining wet, with passionate speed
For nothing,
For absolutely nothing but joy.
For a belated yesterday, from Poems 1962-2012.
from A Summer Garden / by Louise Glück
For baseball, from The Old Life.
from The Thirteenth Inning / by Donald Hall
When the moon rises, light standards cast eldritch shadows
on players who cast no shadows, and we observe four
transparent pitchers superimposed on each other,
from ghostly Babe Ruth past Cy Young and Smokey Joe Wood
to Parson Lewis.
For grace, from the FSG book of Twentieth-Century Latin American Poetry, edited by Ilan Stavans.
from The Disappearance of Luisa Porto / by Carlos Drummond de Andrade, translated by Thomas Colchie
No more searching. Silence the radios.
The calm of petals opening
in a blue garden
where hearts are unburdened
For pillars and dances, from Early Poems, 1935-1955.
from In Uxmal / by Octavio Paz
The time is transparent:
even if the bird is invisible,
let us see the color of his song.
For storks and books, from Ordinary Words.
from Reading / by Ruth Stone
The girl wraps her hands in her apron.
Small yellow flowers
have clumped among the tussocks
of coarse grass.
For full circles and the sea, from Selected Poems.
from Flowers by the Sea / by William Carlos Williams
When over the flowery, sharp pasture’s
edge, unseen, the salt ocean
lifts its form–chicory and daisies
tied, released, seem hardly flowers alone
but color and the movement
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