He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

This poem is in the public domain.

The birds were louder this morning,
raucous, oblivious, tweeting their teensy bird-brains out.
It scared me, until I remembered it’s Spring.
How do they know it? A stupid question.
Thank you, birdies. I had forgotten how promise feels.

Copyright © 2015 by Michael Ryan. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 4, 2015, by the Academy of American Poets.

I come weary,
In search of an inn—
Ah! These wisteria flowers!

 

 

 

                                              —Translation by William George Aston

This poem is in the public domain.

Moon dance,
you were not to blame.

Nor you,
lovely white moth.

But I saw you together.

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on January 22, 2023, by the Academy of American Poets.

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

This poem is in the public domain.

Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, 
Great, hollow, bell-like flowers, 
Rumbling in the wind, 
Stretching clappers to strike our ears . . .
Full-lipped flowers
Bitten by the sun
Bleeding rain
Dripping rain like golden honey—
And the sweet earth flying from the thunder. 

This poem is in the public domain. 

Whirl up, sea—
Whirl your pointed pines.
Splash your great pines
On our rocks.
Hurl your green over us—
Cover us with your pools of fir.

This poem is in the public domain.