Tag Archives: American Poets

Dream within a Dream

Posted on January 19, 2022 by Brian D. Butler

Happy Birthday, Edgar Allan Poe A Dream Within A Dream   by Edgar Allan Poe (published 1850)    Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, … Continue reading →

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Living in a Simulation

Posted on January 15, 2022 by Brian D. Butler

Tom Clark (1941-2018)  

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Many prophets have failed

Posted on December 23, 2021 by Brian D. Butler

 

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The forest knows where you are

Posted on December 14, 2021 by Brian D. Butler

 

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Stare hard enough at the fabric of night

Posted on October 28, 2021 by Brian D. Butler

FIELD OF SKULLS Mary Karr Stare hard enough at the fabric of night, and if you’re predisposed to dark—let’s say the window you’ve picked is a black postage stamp you spend hours at, sleepless, drinking gin after the I Love Lucy reruns … Continue reading →

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trembling with the same cicada sound

Posted on July 25, 2021 by Brian D. Butler

Here in the Northeastern U.S. we are experiencing the emergence of a brood of 17-year cicadas. Sitting in my garden listening to the noisy insects, I was reminded of this very short piece by the late American poet W.S. Merwin: … Continue reading →

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Dear Tourists

Posted on December 2, 2020 by Brian D. Butler

DEAR TOURISTS Johannes Göransson Dear Tourists, You can grope for moist souvenirs in the basement, but you’ll need patience because nobody down there will warn you about the floor. In the street you’ll find squirrels; on my scalp, bumps. If you … Continue reading →

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Devotion is full of arrows

Posted on September 25, 2020 by Brian D. Butler

ON KINGDOMS Joanna Klink Who is ever at home in oneself. Land without mercy. Interstates set flickering by night. When I speak to you I can feel a storm falling blackly to the roads, the pelting rains the instant they … Continue reading →

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Denial Is A Cliff

Posted on September 2, 2020 by Brian D. Butler

Denial is a Cliff We Are Driven Over Joy Priest I want to believe Don West when he writes: none of mineever made their living by driving slaves. But in my grandfather’s mouth that utterance would’ve taken on another meaning: In … Continue reading →

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