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Poem of the Hour
Last night I was searching my bookshelf for a specific book. As I turned my head sideways, reading the titles on the spines, I realized I could have some fun putting together a poem. Though the results...
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Sidewalks: Where Poetic Champions Compose
April–National Poetry Month–is just around the corner and Saint Paul wants your poetry. For the past few years, the city has been open to poetry submissions with the intent of impressing them into wet...
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For Horses, Horseflies
I’m tired of getting told who’s being stoned in the proverbial public square this time. Yes, we want criminals put behind bars, but do we need witness it, especially in the form of entertainment? Why...
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Poem of the Hour
my father by Charles Bukowski was a truly amazing man he pretended to be rich even though we lived on beans and mush and weenies when we sat down to eat, he said, “not everybody can eat like this.” and...
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Poem of the Hour
The Poet’s Occasional Alternative by GRACE PALEY I was going to write a poem I made a pie insteadit took about the same amount of time of course the pie was a final drafta poem would have some distance...
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Happy Birthday, Charles Bukowski! (America’s filthiest, lowlife poet)
In high school I hid his books from my mom and the nuns. In college, it was the nuns and my English Lit professors. Though we may all be hanged or hangable, Bukowski was born with more than his fair...
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Poem of the Hour
Autumn Day Rainer Maria Rilke Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadow on the sundials and let loose the wind in the fields. Bid the last fruits to be full; give them another two more...
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Meeting at an Airport
by TAHA MUHAMMAD ALI You asked me once, on your way back from the midmorning trip to the spring: “What do you hate and who do you love?” And I answered, from behind the eyelashes of my surprise, my...
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Messenger
By Mary Oliver My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird— equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums. Here the clam deep in the speckled...
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LIFE’S PILGRIM by Geoffrey Chaucer FLY from the press, and dwell with soothfastness; Suffice unto thy good, though it be small, For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness ; Preise hath envie, and...
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