February 12, 2016

The snow is dear to me; and the moon rising; and the silver sea. With my robes I cover the speckled hen’s eggs and the brindled sea shell 

—Virginia Woolf

February 5, 2016

Sometimes the mist overhangs my path, And blackening clouds about me cling; But, oh, I have a magic way To turn the gloom to cheerful day – I softly sing.

—James Weldon Johnson

January 29, 2016

For the listener, who listens in the snow, And, nothing himself, beholds Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is. 

—Wallace Stevens

January 22, 2016

Fairy snow, fairy snow, Blowing, blowing everywhere, Would that I Too, could fly Lightly, lightly through the air.

—Sara Teasdale

January 15, 2016

Hand in hand, we Will go forward toward nothing While our clothes darken And our faces stream With the sweet waters Of heaven.

—Philip Levine

January 8, 2016

Children’s fingerprints On a frozen window Of a small schoolhouse An empire, I read somewhere, Maintains itself through The cruelty of its prisons.

—Charles Simic

January 1, 2016

So much of any year is flammable, Lists of vegetables, partial poems Orange swirling flame of days, So little is a stone.

—Naomi Shihab Nye

December 25, 2015

Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let us all be merry.

—George Wither

December 18, 2015

Plovers that stoop to sanctify the land And scoop small, roundy mangers in the sand, Swaddle a saviour each in a speckled shell.

—Anne Stevenson

December 11, 2015

But it is winter with your love; I scatter crumbs upon the sill, And close the window, — and the birds May take or leave them, as they will.

—Edna St. Vincent Millay

December 4, 2015

I heard a bird sing In the dark of December A magical thing And sweet to remember. We are nearer to Spring Than we were in September.

—Oliver Herford

November 27, 2015

See the geese in chevron flight Flapping and racing on before the snow They got the urge for going And they got the wings so they can go.

—Joni Mitchell

November 13, 2015

With night coming early, And dawn coming late, And ice in the bucket And frost by the gate. The fires burn And the kettles sing, And earth sinks to rest Until next spring.

—Elizabeth Coatsworth

November 6, 2015

We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved, and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders Fields.

—John McCrae

October 30, 2015

And the wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws.

—Maurice Sendak

October 23, 2015

The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.

—Henry Beston

October 16, 2015

The sweet calm sunshine of October, now Warms the low spot; upon its grassy mold The purple oak-leaf falls; the birchen bough Drops its bright spoil like arrow-heads of gold.

—William Cullen Bryant

October 9, 2015

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run.

—John Keats

October 2, 2015

The day is yet one more yellow leaf And without turning I kiss the light By an old well on the last of the month Gathering wild rose hips In the sun.

—W.S. Merwin

September 25, 2015

Although it is a cold evening, Down by one of the fishhouses An old man sits netting, His net, in the gloaming almost invisible, A dark purple-brown.

—Elizabeth Bishop