Tag: month
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National Poetry Month: T.S. Eliot
Awfully close to dropping the ball just short of the goal line…I’m several poems behind, but you’ll get ’em all today. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock By T. S. Eliot S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma percioche giammai di…
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National Poetry Month: Robert Pinsky
I received the following facebook message last night, from the gallery of distant rogues: “Poesy Month, eh? Where’s the fucking Pinksy (sic), Chuck?” Point taken. An Explanation of America: A Love of Death by Robert Pinsky Imagine a child from Virginia or New Hampshire Alone on the prairie eighty years ago Or more, one afternoon—the…
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National Poetry Month: Marianne Moore
This is one of my favorites–and one I bet you never read before. Marianne Moore should be a lot more famous than she is, She was also a rabid baseball fan. Imagine a time when poets could be popular enough to garner press at a Yankees game! It’s a shame she’s been overshadowed by her…
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National Poetry Month: Jones Very
The New Birth by Jones Very a new life;–thoughts move not as they did With slow uncertain steps across my mind, In thronging haste fast pressing on they bid The portals open to the viewless wind That comes not save when in the dust is laid The crown of pride that gilds each mortal brow,…
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National Poetry Month: Henry David Thoreau
Friendship by Henry David Thoreau I think awhile of Love, and while I think, Love is to me a world, Sole meat and sweetest drink, And close connecting link Tween heaven and earth. I only know it is, not how or why, My greatest happiness; However hard I try, Not if I were to die,…
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National Poetry Month: James Dickey
A BIRTH by James Dickey Inventing a story with grass, I find a young horse deep inside it. I cannot nail wires around him; My fence posts fail to be solid, And he is free, strangely, without me. With his head still browsing the greenness, He walks slowly out of the pasture To enter the…
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National Poetry Month: Raymond Carver
HOPE By Raymond Carver “My wife,” said Pinnegar, “expects to see me go to the dogs when she leaves me. It is her last hope.” –D. H. Lawrence, “Jimmy and the Desperate Woman” She gave me the car and two hundred dollars. Said, So long, baby. Take it easy, hear? So much for twenty years…
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National Poetry Month: Edwin Godsey
I Hope I Don’t Have You Next Semester, But before you step out Aphrodite honey hold your ear down close to the conch and see can you make out any noises. by Edwin Godsey
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National Poetry Month–Lisa Martinovic
I like Ms. Martinovic’s tremendously vital work, but she’s sort of greedy about it–I hear about more than I can actually find on the internet, and forget about hard copy of anything. In deference to her doling out her work in measured servings, I’m forcing you to link away from Old Road Apples…but hey, you…
Old Road Apples 