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Tag Archives: American Poets
Sleeping in the Forest
Sleeping in the Forest I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the riverbed, nothing between me … Continue reading
Old Swimmers From Old Places
River Roads by Carl Sandburg Let the crows go by hawking their caw and caw. They have been swimming in midnights of coal mines somewhere. Let ’em hawk their caw and caw. Let the woodpecker drum and drum on a … Continue reading
The Parable of the Blind
“The Parable of the Blind” by William Carlos Williams This horrible but superb painting the parable of the blind without a red in the composition shows a group of beggars leading each other diagonally downward across the canvas from one … Continue reading
Posted in Art, USA, Writing
Tagged American Poets, Painting, Poetry, William Carlos Williams
1 Comment
“Ten percent of what I write is immortal”
You Never Had It – An Evening with Bukowski is a documentary from director Matteo Borgardt that transports you back to January 1981 for an intimate evening conversation with legendary writer and poet Charles Bukowski at his San Pedro home. … Continue reading
Posted in Books, Film, USA, Writing
Tagged American Poets, Charles Bukowski, Documentary, poerty
1 Comment
Whitman on writing
“The secret of it all, is to write in the gush, the throb, the flood, of the moment…to put things down without deliberation…without worrying about their style…without waiting for a fit time or place. I always worked that way. I … Continue reading
your one wild and precious life
Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean— the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, … Continue reading
At midnight, in the month of June
The Sleeper BY EDGAR ALLAN POE At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, Exhales from out her golden rim, And softly dripping, drop by drop, Upon the quiet mountain top, … Continue reading
the lie was the weapon and the plot was empty
“Either peace or happiness, let it enfold you. When I was a young man I felt these things were dumb, unsophisticated. I had bad blood, a twisted mind, a precarious upbringing. I was hard as granite, I leered at the … Continue reading
The Massacre of Innocents
THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS William Jay Smith (1946) Because I believe in the community of little children Because I have suffered such little children to be slain: I have gazed upon the sunlight, dazed, bewildered, As is a child … Continue reading
Travel Between The Pages 