by William Stafford We were alone one night on a long road in Montana. This was in winter， a big night， far to the stars. We had hitched， my wife and ...
by Elaine Equi When a poem speaks by itself，it has a spark and can be considered part of a divine conversation. Sometimes the poem weaves like a baske...
by Mónica de la Torre Not to search for meaning， but to reedify a gesture， an intent. As a translator， one grows attached to originals. Seldom ...
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...
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 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 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 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 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 Hamlin Garland...