Category: Poetry
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In the days before the trees had leaves,
Coyote said, the trees were always cold.
And so they asked the birds to come and build nests
in their branches, and the black beetles to come
to live under their bark, and the red and gray squirrels
to fill up their empty places. -
No Halo
Not supposed to write
poems about angels,
so my writing teacher says.
No sunsets, roses, rainbows, doves. -
Breakfast Hunger
First, instant adrenaline
voids the normal
body issues.
Clearing the scene
brings on the hunger. -
American Life in Poetry: Column 222
Coleman Barks, who lives in Georgia, is not only the English language’s foremost translator of the poems of the 13th century poet, Rumi, but he’s also a loving grandfather, and for me that’s even more important. His poems about his granddaughter, Briny, are brim full of joy.
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American Life in Poetry: Column 221
Sometimes, it’s merely the sound of a child’s voice in a nearby room that makes a parent feel immensely lucky. To celebrate Father’s Day, here’s a joyful poem of fatherhood by Todd Boss, who lives in St.
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With night slain
red floods
the green lean of trees
disturbing a prairie
horizontal that makes us hunch
toward the earthwhat’s wild flowers
in the random creases
beyond usbrown sparrow dart
drape of monarchs
through leaves’ purple underside
ringed in the cars’ undercurrent
that tears across a blue stitchthe road side aches
serrated edges of maple leaves
draining green beneath our tires
a bird refuses flightGail Lukasik is the author of the recently released Door County mystery novel, Death’s Door.
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American Life in Poetry: Column 220
One of the privileges of being U.S. Poet Laureate was to choose two poets each year to receive a $10,000 fellowship, funded by the Witter Bynner Foundation.
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American Life in Poetry: Column 219
As we all know, getting older isn’t hard to do. Time continues on. In this poem, Deborah Warren of Massachusetts asks us to think about the life lived between our past and present selves, as indicated in the marginal comments of an old book.
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American Life in Poetry: Column 218
American literature is rich with poems about the passage of time, and the inevitability of change, and how these affect us. Here is a poem by Kevin Griffith, who lives in Ohio, in which the years accelerate by their passing.
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3rd Generation Fire
Grandpa was Chief,
so was Dad.
The first firetruck was parked in a bay under their hardware store. -
American Life in Poetry: Column 217
American literature is rich with poems about the passage of time, and the inevitability of change, and how these affect us. Here is a poem by Kevin Griffith, who lives in Ohio, in which the years accelerate by their passing.
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1. Hannah
Hanner Hart, Hanner Hart, they all called me.
The problem with husbands is, they don’t last!
After Ed died, I was on my own for 45 years,
And it was hard times for Hanner Hart. -
American Life in Poetry: Column 216
Judy Loest lives in Knoxville and, like many fine Appalachian writers, her poems have a welcoming conversational style, rooted in that region’s storytelling tradition. How gracefully she sweeps us into the landscape and the scene!
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American Life in Poetry: Column 215
To commemorate Mother’s Day, here’s a lovely poem by David Wojahn of Virginia, remembering his mother after forty years.
Walking to School, 1964
Blurring the window, the snowflakes’ numb white lanterns.