[little tree] (Monday Poem)

by e. e. cummings

 

 

little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower

who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see            i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly

i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid

look           the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,

put up your little arms
and i’ll give them all to you to hold.
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy

then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they’ll stare!
oh but you’ll be very proud

and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
“Noel Noel”

 

Public domain 

A Country Boy in Winter (Monday Poem)

 by Sarah Orne Jewett

 

 

 

The wind may blow the snow about,

For all I care, says Jack,

And I don’t mind how cold it grows,

For then the ice won’t crack.

Old folks may shiver all day long,

But I shall never freeze;

What cares a jolly boy like me

For winter days like these?

 

Far down the long snow-covered hills

It is such fun to coast,

So clear the road! the fastest sled

There is in school I boast.

The paint is pretty well worn off,

But then I take the lead;

A dandy sled’s a loiterer,

And I go in for speed.

 

When I go home at supper-time,

Ki! but my cheeks are red!

They burn and sting like anything;

I’m cross until I’m fed.

You ought to see the biscuit go,

I am so hungry then;

And old Aunt Polly says that boys

Eat twice as much as men.

 

There’s always something I can do

To pass the time away;

The dark comes quick in winter-time—

A short and stormy day

And when I give my mind to it,

It’s just as father says,

I almost do a man’s work now,

And help him many ways.

 

I shall be glad when I grow up

And get all through with school,

I’ll show them by-and-by that I

Was not meant for a fool.

I’ll take the crops off this old farm,

I’ll do the best I can.

A jolly boy like me won’t be

A dolt when he’s a man.

 

I like to hear the old horse neigh

Just as I come in sight,

The oxen poke me with their horns

To get their hay at night.

Somehow the creatures seem like friends,

And like to see me come.

Some fellows talk about New York,

But I shall stay at home.

 

 

Public domain 

 

Yellow Butter (Monday Poem)

 by Mary Ann Hoberman

 

 

Yellow butter purple jelly red jam black bread

 

Spread it thick 

Say it quick

 

Yellow butter purple jelly red jam black bread

 

Spread it thicker

Say it quicker

 

Yellow butter purple jelly red jam black bread

 

 Now repeat it

While you eat it

 

Yellow butter purple jelly red jam black bread

 

Don't talk

With your mouth full!

 

 

from Forget-Me-Nots: Poems to Learn by Heart 

Selected by Mary Ann Hoberman

Little, Brown & Co, 2012 

 

Tsegihi (Monday Poem)

by N. Scott Momaday

 

 

House made of dawn,

House made of evening light,

House made of dark cloud,

House made of male rain,

House made of dark mist,

House made of female rain,

House made of pollen,

House made of grasshoppers,

Dark cloud is at the door.

The trail out of its dark cloud.

The zigzag lightning stands high upon it.

Male deity!

Your offering I make.

I have prepared a smoke for you.

Restore my feet for me.

Restore my legs for me.

Restore my body for me.

Restore my mind for me.

Restore my voice for me.

This very day take out your spell for me.

Your spell moves from me.

You have taken it away for me;

Far off it has gone.

Happily I recover.

Happily my interior becomes cool.

Happily I go forth.

My interior feeling cool, may I walk.

No longer sore, may I walk.

Impervious to pain, may I walk.

With lively feelings may I walk.

As it used to be long ago, may I walk.

Happily may I walk.

Happily, with abundant dark clouds, may I walk. 

Happily, with abundant showers, may I walk.

Happily, with abundant plants, may I walk.

Happily may I walk.

Being as it used to be long ago, may I walk.

May it be beautiful before me,

May it be beautiful behind me,

May it be beautiful below me,

May it be beautiful above me,

May it be beautiful all around me.

In beauty it is finished.

 

 

Exerpt of the Navajo Night Chant song, 

from House Made of Dawn by N. Scott Momaday

HarperCollins, 1999 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's Raining in Honolulu (Monday Poem)

 by Joy Harjo

 

 

There is a small mist at the brow of the mountain,

each leaf of flower, of taro, tree and bush shivers with ecstasy.

And the rain songs of all the flowering ones who have called for the rain

can be found there, flourishing beneath the currents of singing.

Rain opens us, like flowers, or earth that has been thirsty for more than a season.

We stop all of our talking, quit thinking, or blowing sax to drink the mystery.

We listen to the breathing beneath our breathing.

This is how the rain became rain, how we became human.

The wetness saturates everything, including the perpetrators of the second overthrow.

We will plant songs where there were curses.

 

 

from How We Became Human: New and Selected Poems 1975-2001

by Joy Harjo

W. W. Norton and Company 2002

 

Trickster (Monday Poem)

 by Joy Harjo

 

 

Crow, in the new snow.

You caw, caw

                    like crazy.

Laugh.

Because you know I'm a fool,

too, like you

skimming over the thin ice

to the war going on

all over the world.

 

 

from How We Became Human: New and Selected Poems 1975-2001

by Joy Harjo

W. W. Norton and Company 2002

 

Naming (Monday Poem)

 by Joy Harjo

 

 

I call my sisters to dress for the stomp dance

As all the little creatures hum and sing

in the thick grass around the grounds.

Lightning bugs are tiny stars

dancing in the river of dusk.

Our stomachs are full of meat and fry bread

and the talk of aunts and uncles.

Beautiful fire at the center of the dance

and the dusk has been lit.

We lace up our turtle shells so we

can dance into the circle.

And in this spirit world is the grocery

store over the hill, and all the houses,

the river, the sky, and the highway.

We have been here forever

say our mother, our father.

And this is the name we call ourselves

I tell my sisters,

this name that gives our legs the music

to shake the shells---

a name that is unspeakable

by those who disrespect us

---a name with power to thread us through

the dark to dawn

and leads us faithfully to the stars.

 

 

from How We Became Human: New and Selected Poems 1975-2001

by Joy Harjo

W. W. Norton and Company 2002