"To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June."
– Jean-Paul Sartre

The Poet’s Calendar: January
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

JANUS am I; oldest of potentates;
Forward I look, and backward, and below
I count, as god of avenues and gates,
The years that through my portals come and go.

I block the roads, and drift the fields with snow;
I chase the wild-fowl from the frozen fen;
My frosts congeal the rivers in their flow,
My fires light up the hearths and hearts of men.

Won’t you celebrate with me
Lucille Clifton

won't you celebrate with me
what I have shaped into
a kind of life? I had no model
born in babylon
both nonwhite and woman
what did I see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed

January Thaw
Margaret Hillert

The sun came out,
And the snowman cried.
His tears ran down
on every side.
His tears ran down
Till the spot was cleared.
He cried so hard
That he disappeared.


"February is merely as long as is needed to pass the time until March."
– Dr. J. R. Stockton

The Poet’s Calendar: February
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I am lustration; and the sea is mine!
I wash the sands and headlands with my tide;
My brow is crowned with branches of the pine;
Before my chariot-wheels the fishes glide.

By me all things unclean are purified,
By me the souls of men washed white again;
E’en the unlovely tombs of those who died
Without a dirge, I cleanse from every stain.

If Apples Were Pears
Anne Krysllene Kho

If apples were pears
And peaches were plums
And the rose had a different name.
If tigers were bears
And fingers were thumbs
I'd love you just the same.

The Fog
Carl Sandburg

The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.


"March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice."
– Hal Borland

The Poet’s Calendar: March
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I Martius am! Once first, and now the third!
To lead the Year was my appointed place;
A mortal dispossessed me by a word,
And set there Janus with the double face.

Hence I make war on all the human race;
I shake the cities with my hurricanes;
I flood the rivers and their banks efface,
And drown the farms and hamlets with my rains.

Saint Patrick was a gentleman
Irish song, Author Unknown

He gave the snakes and toads a twist and banished them forever.
There's not a mile in Eireann's isle where the dirty vermin musters
Where'er he put his dear forefoot, he murdered them in clusters
The toads went hop, the frogs went pop, slapdash into the water
And beasts committed suicide to save themselves from slaughter.

Work without Hope
Samuel Taylor Coleridge

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair
The bees are stirring, birds are on the wing,
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of spring.