I Wrote This For You (Iain S. Thomas)

I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it’s about to end.

And if you’re never going to see someone again, it’ll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, “It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now.”

And maybe if you’re never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it’ll shine and you can order everything off the menu you’ve never tried. Maybe, if someone’s about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin. Maybe, if you’re with a group of friends who’ll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you’ll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, “This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good.”

Utopia (Louise Gluck)

When the train stops, the woman said, you must get on it. But how will I
know, the child asked, it is the right train? It will be the right train, said the
woman, because it is the right time. A train approached the station; clouds
of grayish smoke streamed from the chimney. How terrified I am, the child
thinks, clutching the yellow tulips she will give to her grandmother. Her hair
has been tightly braided to withstand the journey. Then, without a word,
she gets on the train, from which a strange sound comes, not in a language
like the one she speaks, something more like a moan or a cry.

8th Grade (Dave Bronson)

When they are done
They walk up to my desk
Ever so slightly unassured
And pass in their completed papers
One after another
Staggered by effort
And ability

The first papers
Are placed uniformly
Parallel
To the corners of my desk
But soon
Placed in haste
They begin to break down
Each a slight variation on disorder
And if I don’t interrupt
on their behalf
Grabbing the whole of it
And letting its own weight
Slide down on its edge
Lifting and falling
Smashing them down
Over and again
Until they all fall
Back into line

The entirety
Of the previous order
Would be
Unrecognizable

mind and heart (Charles Bukowski)

unaccountably we are alone
forever alone
and it was meant to be
that way,
it was never meant
to be any other way–
and when the death struggle
begins
the last thing I wish to see
is
a ring of human faces
hovering over me–
better just my old friends,
the walls of my self,
let only them be there.

I have been alone but seldom
lonely.
I have satisfied my thirst
at the well
of my self
and that wine was good,
the best I ever had,
and tonight
sitting
staring into the dark
I now finally understand
the dark and the
light and everything
in between.

peace of mind and heart
arrives
when we accept what
is:
having been
born into this
strange life
we must accept
the wasted gamble of our
days
and take some satisfaction in
the pleasure of
leaving it all
behind.

cry not for me.

grieve not for me.

read
what I’ve written
then
forget it
all.

drink from the well
of your self
and begin
again.

Fishing in the keep of Silence (Linda Gregg)

There is a hush now while the hills rise up
and God is going to sleep. He trusts the ship
of Heaven to take over and proceed beautifully
as he lies dreaming in the lap of the world.
He knows the owls will guard the sweetness
of the soul in their massive keep of silence,
looking out with eyes open or closed over
the length of Tomales Bay that the egrets
conform to, whitely broad in flight, white
and slim in standing. God, who thinks about
poetry all the time, breathes happily as He
repeats to Himself: there are fish in the net,
lots of fish this time in the net of the heart.

Questions to Tourists Stopped by a Pineapple Field (W S Merwin)

Did you like your piece of pineapple          would you like a napkin
Who gave you the pineapple          what do you know about them
Do you eat much pineapple          where you come from
How did this piece compare          with pineapple you have eaten before
What do you remember about the last time          you ate a piece of pineapple
Did you know where it came from          how much did it cost
Do you remember the first time          you tasted pineapple
Do you like it better fresh          or from the can
What do you remember          of the picture on the can
Which do you like better          the picture or the pineapple field
Did you ever imagine          pineapples growing somewhere

How do you like          these pineapple fields
Have you ever seen          pineapple fields before
Do you know whether pineapple          is native to the islands
Do you know whether the natives          ate pineapple
Do you know whether the natives          grew pineapple
Do you know how the land was acquired          to be turned into pineapple fields
Do you know what is done to the land          to turn it into pineapple fields
Do you know how many months          and how deeply they plow it
Do you know what those machines do          are you impressed
Do you know what is in those containers         are you interested

What do you think was here          before the pineapple fields
Would you suppose that the fields          represent an improvement
Do you think they smell better          than they did before
Where do you think the plastic          goes when the crop is over
What do you think becomes of the land          when the crop is over
What and where was the last          animal you noticed
What was the last          bird you noticed
Do you remember          what sort of bird it was
Do you know whether          there were birds here before
Are there any birds          where you come from
Do you think it matters         what do you think matters more
Have you seen any          natives since you arrived
What were they doing           what were they wearing
What language were they speaking          were they in nightclubs
Are there any natives          where you come from

Have you taken pictures          of the pineapple fields
Would you like for me         to hold the camera
So that you can all          be in the picture
Would you mind          if I took your picture
Do you expect           to come back
What made you decide          to come here
Was this what           you came for
When did you first          hear of the islands
Where were you then           how old were you
Did you first see the islands          in black and white
What words were used          to describe the islands

What do the words mean          now that you are here
What do you do          for a living
What would you say is          the color of pineapple leaves
When you look at things in rows          wo do you feel
Would you like to dream           of pineapple fields

Is this your first visit          how do you like the islands
What would you say          in your own words
You like best          about the islands
What do you want          when you take a trip
When did you get here          how long will you be staying
Did you buy any clothes          especially for the islands
How much did you spend on them          before you came
Was it easy to find clothes          for the islands
How much have you spent on clothes          since you got here
Did you make your own plans          or are you part of a group
How many are in your group           how much was your ticket
Are the side-tours part of the ticket          or are they extra
Have you already paid          or will you pay later
Did you pay by check          or by credit card
Is this car rented          by the day or week
How does it compare           with the one you drive at home
How many miles          does it do to a gallon
How far do you          want it to go on this island

Where have you been         in the last three hours
What have you seen          in the last three miles
Do you feel hurried          on your vacation
Are you getting         your money’s worth
How old are you          are you homesick are you well
What do you eat here          is it what you want
What gifts are you planning          to take back
How much do you expect          to spend on them
What have you bought          to take home with you
Have you decided          where to put each thing
What will you say          about where they came from
What will you say         about the pineapple fields

Do you like dancing here          what do you do when it rains
Was this trip          purely for pleasure
Do you drink more          or less at than at home
How do you like          the place where you live now
Were you born there          how long have you lived there
What does the name mean          is it a growth community
Why are you living there          how long do you expect to stay
How old is your house          would you like to sell it
In your opinion          coming from your background
What do the islands offer          someone of your age
Are there any changes          you would like to promote
Would you like to invest here          would you like to live here
If so would it be year round          or just for part of the year
Do you think there is a future          in pineapple

Places I have heard the ocean (Faith Shearin)

In a cat’s throat, in a shell I hold

to my ear — though I’m told

this is the sound of my own

blood. I have heard the ocean

in the city: cars against

the beach of our street. Or in

the subway, waiting for a train

that carries me like a current.

In my bed: place of high and low

tide or in my daughter’s skates,

rolling over the sidewalk.

Ocean in the trees when they

fill their heads with wind.

Ocean in the rise and fall:

lungs of everyone I love.

Let Evening Come (Jane Kenyon)

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

For a Five Year Old (Fleur Adcock)

A snail is climbing up the window-sill
into your room, after a night of rain.
You call me in to see and I explain
that it would be unkind to leave it there:
it might crawl to the floor; we must take care
that no one squashes it. You understand,
and carry it outside, with careful hand,
to eat a daffodil.

I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:
your gentleness is moulded still by words
from me, who have trapped mice and shot wild birds,
from me, who drowned your kittens, who betrayed
your closest relatives and who purveyed
the harshest kind of truth to many another,
But that is how things are: I am your mother,
And we are kind to snails.

What the Dead Don't Need (Faith Shearin)

No need for shoes, of course, or closets full of empty

dresses. No need for the shade of trees or the approval

of parents and friends. They don’t care about the objects

of this world: a new computer, a house overlooking

the sea. The place they occupy may or may not contain

a window to all they’ve left behind. We, the living, think

of them without knowing who or what they have become.

Ghosts? Dust? Butterflies? Wind? Other mysteries —

puberty, sex, childbirth — are the business of life, and

anyone can tell their story. On the matter of death: only

a closed box and the silence of earth or ashes. When my

daughter was small, my disappearance behind a blanket

or curtain seemed permanent. How could I exist if

I was not visible? When I returned, she was grateful:

laughter and kisses, her hand on the roots of my hair.