A Loaf of Poetry by Naoshi Koriyama

An April Day by Joseph Seamon Cotter Jr.

JabberwockyBy Lewis Carroll’Twas brillig, and the slithy tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.“Beware the Jabberwock, my sonThe jaws that bite, the claws that catch!Beware the Jubjub bird, and shunThe frumious Bandersnatch!”He took his vorpal sword in hand;Long time the manxome foe he sought—So rested he by the Tumtum tree,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 throughThe vorpal blade went snicker-snack!He left it dead, and with its headHe 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 tovesDid gyre and gimble in the wabe;All mimsy were the borogoves,And the mome raths outgrabe.About the poem: This nonsense p

Ode to a Volunteer Firefighterfor Gary V. GrutkowskiBy Timothy WilliamsI wish I were a firemanin San Francisco in 1906, or now, today, in the places wherewe sift through the ashes.I wish I were a firefighterat Wilbur Hot Springs in 2014,when dragons shattered windowsand devoured the grande dame hotel.Beautiful. Lovely. Dangerous.The golden fire rises, day and night.No matter what, fire goes on.I wish I were a firemanthis summer in the remote countiesof California,where in the raging grassesI would work the water.Pour it out, drench the scorched ground,calm the terror, drown out stench and fear.I wish I could ride on fire trucks,saving school buses of studentson their way to Humboldt.Doe-eyed youth leaving home forever,family dreams broken, fragmented by fire.Rage and beauty. Terror aflame. Gather, flee, and wait.I wish I were a firefighterthat I might float in deep water,eyes to the sky, watching crows fly for night’s home tree,trucks at the ready.About the poet: Poet and writer

First Night of RamadanBy Daniel Abdal-Hayy MooreA single stone is thrown inand the canyon resounds with thehallelujahs of angelsA single breath contains theknown and unknown universesBack behind edgelessspace are motions thatvibrate the heartBack behind ancient mountains andhistorical intricaciesa shadow gives way to Light that has adoor in it tolet us throughWe take no step thatdoesn’t bring us nearerOne sip and the oceans disappearOne glance and the skiesbend closer to hear ouremptinessOne heart-wrench elegant elevationand we’re on aplateau tossing a stone in the darkthat never stops echoingThis poem is in the public domain.About the poet: Daniel Moore was born on July 30, 1940, in Oakland, California. He was U.S. poet, essayist, and librettist. In 1970, he converted to the Sufi tradition of Islam, and changed his name to Abdal-Hayy, eventually merging it with his birth name. In early adulthood, Moore traveled widely, living in Morocco, Spain, Algeria, and Nigeria, as wel

MarchBy Madison Julius CaweinThis is the tomboy month of all the year,March, who comes shouting o’er the winter hills,Waking the world with laughter, as she wills,Or wild halloos, a windflower in her ear.She stops a moment by the half-thawed mereAnd whistles to the wind, and straightway shrillsThe hyla’s song, and hoods of daffodilsCrowd golden round her, leaning their heads to hear.Then through the woods, that drip with all their eaves,Her mad hair blown about her, loud she goesSinging and calling to the naked trees;And straight the oilets of the little leavesOpen their eyes in wonder, rows on rows,And the first bluebird bugles to the breeze.This poem is in the public domain.About the poet: Madison Julius Cawein was born on March 23, 1865, in Louisville, Kentucky. At an early age, he developed an interest in storytelling and translating literature from Latin and German into English. While in high school, he began writing poetry. He attended the College of Liberal Arts of t

Leap YearBy Annette WynneLittle month of February,You are small, but worthy—very!Will you grow up like the others,Like your sister months and brothers?Every four years with a boundWith a leap up from the ground,Trying to grow tall as they—All you stretch is one small day!Even then you're not so tallBut just the shortest month of all.This poem is in the public domain.About the poem: “Leap Year” was included in the poet’s book, “For Days and Days: A Year-Round Treasury of Child Verse,” published in 1919. This was her debut collection of poems.About the poet: Annette Wynne was an early 20th Century writer of children’s poems. In addition to the volume of poems mentioned above, she also published “Treasure Things” in 1922.

Untitled — and unfinished?By George WashingtonFrom your bright sparkling Eyes, I was undone;Rays, you have, more transparent than the sun,Amidst its glory in the rising Day,None can you equal in your bright arrays;Constant in your calm and unspotted Mind;Equal to all, but will to none Prove kind,So knowing, seldom one so Young, you’l Find.Ah! woe’s me, that I should Love and conceal,Long have I wish’d, but never dare reveal,Even though severely Loves Pains I feel;Xerxes that great, was’t free from Cupids Dart,And all the greatest Heroes, felt the smart.This poem is in the public domain.About the poem: One of two surviving love poems written by a teenaged George Washington. The poems were written in a small notebook inscribed, “A Journal of My Journey Over the Mountains began Fryday the 11th. of March 1748”, during a surveying expedition he joined at age 16. The poem begs the question, “Who is Frances Alexa?”. Historians’ best

Verse On Lee’s Invasion Of The NorthBy Abraham LincolnGen. Lees invasion of the North written by himself—In eighteen sixty three, with pomp,and mighty swell,Me and Jeff’s Confederacy, wentforth to sack Phil-del,The Yankees the got arter us, andgiv us particular hell,And we skedaddled back again,And didn’t sack Phil-del.This poem is in the public domain.About the poem: The poem is a humorous and satirical take on Confederate General Robert E. Lee’s failed invasion of the North during the Civil War. The poem uses colloquial language and a sing-song rhythm to convey the speaker’s mocking tone.About the poet: Abraham Lincoln was born on February 12, 1809, near Hodgenville, Kentucky, and grew up with little formal schooling. Self-educated, he was elected to the Illinois House of Representatives, and served from 1834 to 1842. Admitted to the bar in 1836, he used law as a gateway into politics. He was elected the 16th President of the United States in 1860,

A ValentineBy Eugene FieldGo, Cupid, and my sweetheart tellI love her well.Yes, though she tramples on my heartAnd rends that bleeding thing apart;And though she rolls a scornful eyeOn doting me when I go by;And though she scouts at everythingAs tribute unto her I bring -Apple, banana, caramel -Haste, Cupid, to my love and tell,In spite of all, I love her well!And further say I have a sledCushioned in blue and painted red!The groceryman has promised ICan “hitch” whenever he goes by -Go, tell her that, and, furthermore,Apprise my sweetheart that a scoreOf other little girls imploreThe boon of riding on that sledPainted and hitched, as aforesaid; -And tell her, Cupid, only sheShall ride upon that sled with me!Tell her this all, and further tellI love her well.This poem is in the public domain.About the poet: Eugene Field was born in St. Louis, Missouri, on September 2, 1850. (His father was an attorney who once represented Dred Scott, the African American man known for the 18

February WeatherBy C. Richard MilesFebruary sulks its shadowOver moorland, marsh and meadow.Dreary drizzle unabating,Then there's weather worse awaiting:Fog and frost and soft snow driftedDeep in heaps that can't be shifted,Rain that pours for hours and hoursPutting paid to plants and flowers,Howling wind and gusting gale,Slushy sleet and hammering hail.Hopefully this woeful weatherHas to pass, not last for ever.On a brighter note, a thought:Just be thankful February's short.This poem is in the public domain.

A Time to TalkBy Robert FrostWhen a friend calls to me from the roadAnd slows his horse to a meaning walk,I don’t stand still and look aroundOn all the hills I haven’t hoed,And shout from where I am, What is it?No, not as there is a time to talk.I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,Blade-end up and five feet tall,And plod: I go up to the stone wallFor a friendly visit.This poem is in the public domain.About the poet: Robert Frost was born on March 26, 1874, in San Francisco. At age eleven, his family moved to Lawrence, Massachusetts, where he became interested in reading and writing poetry during his high school years. He enrolled at Dartmouth College in Hanover, New Hampshire, and later at Harvard University, though he never earned a formal degree.After leaving school, he worked as a teacher, cobbler, and editor of the Lawrence “Sentinel”. His first published poem, “My Butterfly”, appeared on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper “The In

Furry BearBy A. A. MilneIf I were a bear,And a big bear too,I shouldn’t much careIf it froze or snew;I shouldn’t much mindIf it snowed or friz—I’d be all fur-linedWith a coat like his!For I’d have fur boots and a brown fur wrap,And brown fur knickers and a big fur cap.I’d have a fur muffle-ruff to cover my jaws,And brown fur mittens on my big brown paws.With a big brown furry-down up to my head,I’d sleep all the winter in a big fur bed.This poem is in the public domain.About the poet: Alan Alexander Milne was born on January 18, 1882, in Kilburn, London, England. He attended Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge, where he studied on a mathematics scholarship, graduating with a B.A. in 1903. Considered a talented cricket fielder, he played for two amateur teams that were largely composed of British writers.Milne joined the British Army in WWI, and served as an officer in the Royal Warwickshire Regiment, being commissioned as a s

The New YearBy Carrie Williams CliffordThe New Year comes—fling wide, fling wide the doorOf Opportunity! the spirit freeTo scale the utmost heights of hopes to be,To rest on peaks ne’er reached by man before!The boundless infinite let us explore,To search out undiscovered mystery,Undreamed of in our poor philosophy!The bounty of the gods upon us pour!Nay, in the New Year we shall be as gods:No longer apish puppets or dull clodsOf clay; but poised, empowered to command,Upon the Etna of New Worlds we’ll stand—This scant earth-raiment to the winds will cast—Full richly robed as supermen at last!This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on January 1, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.About the poet: Carrie Williams Clifford was born in September, 1862, in Chillicothe, Ohio. A poet and activist, she is the author of “Race Rhymes” (1911) “The Widening Light” (1922). She was a co-founder and first president of the Ohi

The Perfect Christmas Treeby By Paul Bascom GuffinSome folkwill just go down to the tree lotand buy oneOther folk will get a permitgo into the forestcut the one they wantEither waythe tree ends up in the homestar or angel on the toptinsel, balls, bells, heirloom ornamentsdecorate the branchesentice the catThen, there are those folkwho believe in saving treesor just don’t want the botherof having to get oneand needles on the rugthey go to the attic or basementbring down or up the boxthat contains the artificial treefrom there it’s the sameand the cat still gets enticedAnd then there are those tree folkwho select one of their ownthe chosen onestays rooted where it was seededcommunes with all the generations around itlistening to those chosen in times pastopens itself to the honoran orb-weaver’s web herethe squirrel family therenests of birds gracing branchesbeetles and bugs burrowing the trunka world of lifesheltering beneath on the forest floorand at nighttimestarlight