The Hummingbird (Poetry Month)

 by Mary Oliver

It's morning, and again I am that lucky person who is in it.

And again it is spring,

and there are the apple trees,

and the hummingbird in its branches.

On the green wheel of his wings

he hurries from blossom to blossom,

which is his work, that he might live.

He is a gatherer of the fine honey of promise,

and truly I go in envy

of the ruby fire at his throat,

and his accurate, quick tongue,

and his single-mindedness.

Meanwhile the knives of ambition are stirring

down there in the darkness behind my eyes,

and I should go inside now to my desk and my pages.

But still I stand under the trees, happy and desolate,

wanting for myself such a satisfying coat

and brilliant work.

 

 

What Do We Know: Poems and Prose Poems by Mary Oliver

Da Capo Press, 2002 

Noisy, Noisy (Monday Poem)

by Jack Prelutsky

 

It's noisy, noisy overhead,

the birds are winging south,

and every bird is opening

a noisy, noisy mouth.

 

They fill the air with loud complaint,

they honk and quack and squawk --

they do not feel like flying,

but it's much too far to walk.

 

 

Sing a Song of Seasons: A Nature Poem for Each Day of the Year

Selected by Fiona Waters

Candlewick, 2018 

Faith (Poetry Month)

by Emma Walton Hamilton

 

 

You said to us, your arms outstretched

-- a golden boy of three,

"I'm waiting for a butterfly

to come and land on me."

 

Your dad and I were worried.

We exchanged a little smile.

"You know," Dad offered tenderlly,

"that might take awhile."

 

"Try again," I added,

"when the bushes are in flower. . ."

But still you stood there motionless,

for what seemed like an hour.

 

"How about a game of catch?"

Dad hoped he could distract.

"After the butterfly," you said,

with confidence and tact.

 

We knew, as grown-ups do, of course,

this dream could not come true --

that tears and disappointment

would undoubtedly ensue.

 

Yet suddenly, from nowhere,

just the way you had foretold,

Her Majesty appreared

and settled lightly on your shoulder.

 

Your smile extended ear to ear.

You looked at Dad and me.

She flexed her lovely orange wings,

and you said, simply, "See?"

 

 

Julie Andrews' Collection of Poems, Songs, and Lullabies

Selected by Julie Andrews and Emma Walton Hamilton

Little Brown and Company, 2009 

Poetry Month

by Wendell Berry

 

 

Over the river in loud flood

in the wind deep and broad

under the unending sky, pair

by pair, the swallows again,

with tender exactitude,

play out their line

in arcs laid on the air,

as soon as made, not there.

 

 

from This Day: Collected and New Sabbath Poems by Wendell Berry

Counterpoint Press, 2013

The Voice (Monday Poem)

by Shel Silverstein

There is a voice inside of you

That whispers all day long,

"I feel that this is right for me,

I know that this is wrong."

No teacher, preacher, parent, friend

Or wise man can decide

What's right for you-- just listen to

The voice that speaks inside.

https://internetpoem.com/shel-silverstein/the-voice-poem/

Spring (Monday Poem)

 by Mary Oliver

Somewhere

    a black bear

        has just risen from sleep

            and is staring

down the mountain.

    All night

        in the brisk and shallow restlessness

            of early spring

 

I think of her,

    her four black fists

        flicking gravel,

            her tongue

 

like a red fire

    touching the grass,

        the cold water.

            There is only one question;

 

how to love this world.

    I think of her

        rising

            like a black and leafy ledge

 

to sharpen her claws against

    the silence

        of the trees.

            Whatever else

 

my life is

    with its poems

        and its music

            and its glass cities,

 

it is also this dazzling darkness

    coming

        down the mountain,

            breathing and tasting;

 

all day I think of her--

     her white teeth,

        her wordlessness,

            her perfect love.

from Devotions: the Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

Penguin, 2017

    

Moles (Monday Poem)

 by Mary Oliver

Under the leaves, under

the first loose

levels of earth

they're there--quick

as beetles, blind

as bats, shy

as hares but seen

less than these--

traveling

among the pale girders

of appleroot,

rockshelf, nests

of insects and black

pastures of bulbs

peppery and packed full

of the sweetest food:

spring flowers.

Field after field

you can see the traceries

of their long

lonely walks, then

the rains blur

even this frail

hint of them--

so excitable,

so plush,

so willing to continue

generation after generation

accomplishing nothing

but their brief physical lives

as they live and die,

pushing and shoving

with their stubborn muzzles against

the whole earth,

finding it 

delicious.

from Devotions: the Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

Penguin, 2017