Wait | Galway Kinnel Wait, for now. Distrust everything, if you have to. But trust the hours. Haven’t they carried you everywhere, up to now? Personal events will become interesting again. Hair will become interesting. Pain will become interesting. Buds that open out of season…
poetry
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Poetry Friday: Antilamentation | Dorianne Laux
Read moreAntilamentation | Dorianne Laux Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read to the end just to find out who killed the cook. Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark, in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication. Not the lover you…
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Poetry Friday: Stations | Audre Lorde
Read moreStations | Audre Lorde Some women love to wait for life for a ring in the June light for a touch of the sun to heal them for another woman’s voice to make them whole to untie their hands put words in their mouths form…
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Poetry Friday: Introduction to Poetry | Billy Collins
Read moreIntroduction to Poetry | Billy Collins I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into a poem and watch him probe his way…
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Poetry Friday: Thrush | Louise Gluck
Read moreThrush | Louise Gluck Snow began falling, over the surface of the whole earth. That can’t be true. And yet it felt true, falling more and more thickly over everything I could see. The pines turned brittle with ice. This is the place I told…
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Poetry Friday: A Brief for the Defense | Jack Gilbert
Read morephoto taken with instagram A Brief for the Defense | Jack Gilbert Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies are not starving someplace, they are starving somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils. But we enjoy our lives because that’s what God wants. Otherwise the mornings…
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Poetry Friday: Wild Geese | Mary Oliver
Read moreWild Geese | Mary Oliver You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell…
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Poetry Friday: who are you,little i | e. e. cummings
Read morewho are you,little i | e. e. cummings who are you,little i (five or six years old) peering from some high window;at the gold of november sunset (and feeling:that if day has to become night this is a beautiful way)
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Poetry Friday: I IMAGINE THE GODS | Jack Gilbert
Read moreI IMAGINE THE GODS | Jack Gilbert I imagine the gods saying, We will make it up to you. We will give you three wishes, they say. Let me see the squirrels again, I tell them. Let me eat some of the great hog stuffed…