April is Poetry Month--a poem for each day we are open

April 7th

Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day – April 7, 2009

April Prayer

Stuart Kestenbaum

Just before the green begins there is the hint of green
a blush of color, and the red buds thicken
the ends of the maple’s branches and everything
is poised before the start of a new world,
which is really the same world
just moving forward from bud
to flower to blossom to fruit
to harvest to sweet sleep, and the roots
await the next signal, every signal
every call a miracle and the switchboard
is lighting up and the operators are
standing by in the pledge drive we’ve
all been listening to: Go make the call.

Eliza's Choice

Eating Poetry
Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

-- Mark Strand

April is Poetry Month

In memory of Dori Anderson
1938-2008

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

April is Poetry Month--Celebrate with us!

Donna Kerr, Branch Manager at the Willits Library and Eliza Wingate, Reference at the Ukiah Library have a joyful time each day in April that the Libraries are open, presenting you with poems, online or there will be take outs at each branch.

April 1st

Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day – April 1, 2008

Celebrating APRIL FOOL’S DAY with Lewis Carroll

JABBERWOCKY

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought –

So rested he by the Tumtum tre,

And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in he wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

Ukiah celebrates National Poetry Month

Eating Poetry
Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
i have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand,
when I get on my knees and lick her hand.
She screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Poetry for April 6

Art from the Sedona AZ Library

Eliza's choice

Eating Poetry
Mark Strand

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand,
when I get on my knees and lick her hand.
She screams.

I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

Donna's choice

Willits Library National Poetry Month Poem of the Day for April 6, 2007

Naomi Shihab Nye

STAYING CLOSE

On your tree surprised lemons

wore small caps of snow.

The bowl of steaming lentils

opened its wide mouth as we sat and sat,

stitching the seam of talk,

till the man with the rug from Baghdad arrived

rolling out its long length inside your door.

It was orange. It looked happy.

He had just come overland with a bundle of rugs.

When you kissed him good-bye on both cheeks

I wanted to kiss him too,

not for our offhand greeting,

or his deep eyes like furry animals

curled into lairs for the winter,

but for each doorway in Baghdad

with a rug in front of it

and humans moving in and out.