by Susan Howe 1. age of earth and us all chattering a sentence or character suddenly steps out to seek for truth fails falls into a stream of ink Sequ...
by Amy Clampitt cold nights on the farm， a sock-shod stove-warmed flatiron slid under the covers， mornings a damascene sealed bizarrerie of fernwork d...
by John Keats The poetry of earth is never dead： When all the birds are faint with the hot sun， And hide in cooling trees， a voice will run From hedge...
by Hamlin Garland...
by Maurya Simon Noon. I can connect nothing with nothing. Perhaps even chaos is cause for celebration. And perhaps the astrologers are right when they...
by Paul Guest Dear murderous world， dear gawking heart， I never wrote back to you， not one word wrenched itself free of my fog-draped mind to dab in i...
by Nancy Mairs Let me tell you this once （I will not be able to say it again）： I have lost the meaning of words. Heavy， they ripped away from the soun...
by James Wright Nightfall， that saw the morning-glories float Tendril and string against the crumbling wall， Nurses him now， his skeleton for grief， H...
by Linda Gregerson Dark still. Twelve degrees below freezing. Tremor along the elegant， injured right front leg of the gelding on the cross-ties. Knee...
by Alfred Corn Once a day the rocks， with little warning- not much looked for even by the spruce and fir ever at attention above- fetch up on these ti...