Here are the previous
Poems of the Day

You Were Gone
by Nikki Giovanni

You were gone
     like a fly lighting
     on that wall
     with a spider in the corner

You were gone
     like last week's paycheck
     for this week's bills

You were gone
     like the years between
     twenty-five and thirty
     as if somehow

You never existed
     and if it wouldn't be
     for the gray hairs
     I'd never know that
You had come

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Winter Poem
   by Nikki Giovanni

once a snowflake fell
on my brow and I loved
it so much and I kissed
it and it was happy and called its cousins
and brothers and a web
of snow engulfed me then
I reached to love them all
and I squeezed them and they became
a spring rain and I stood perfectly
still and was a flower

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Come to the Library
By Nichole H., Grade 5

Come to the library...come!
The silence creeps in, but no one notices,
I feel the soft brush of air from the turning of a page,
I gulp in the words like a refreshing glass of water,
I picture myself waving to subjects of my kingdom or fighting a pirate.

Come to the library...come!
Nonfiction, Biographies, Fiction, Mysteries,
Colorful covers and perfect pictures,
Silent movies sitting and waiting to be read,

Come to the library...come!
Forgotten stories only known to books,
I find new things in the treasure hunt,
It is silent again, everyone is reading.

Come to the library...come!

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SPRING
  (This poem is a result of the "add a line" poem that was in the atrium of the library. Each line was contributed by a different person)

Sharp winter melts and changes into Spring,
Earth bursts open and sprouts the flowery thing.
Sunrays dance with splendor in a ballet of fire.
When your enthusiasm for winter begins to tire,
And passions erupt with newness of life
Remember the good times and not the strife.

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY IN FIVE SHORT CHAPTERS
   by Portia Nelson

CHAPTER ONE

I walk down the street.

            There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

            I fall in.

            I am lost...I am helpless.

                        It isn’t my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

CHAPTER TWO

I walk down the same street.

            There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

            I pretend I don’t see it.

            I fall in again.

I can’t believe I am in this same place.

                        But, it isn’t my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out. 

CHAPTER THREE

I walk down the same street.

            There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

            I see it is there.

            I still fall in...it’s a habit...but,

                        my eyes are open.

                        I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

CHAPTER FOUR

I walk down the same street.

            There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

            I walk around it.

CHAPTER FIVE

I walk down another street.

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Selecting a Reader

by Ted Kooser

First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
"For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned." And she will.

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in time of daffodils   by e.e. cummings

in time of daffodils (who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why, remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so (forgetting seem)

in time of roses (who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if, remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek (forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me, remember me

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