The mysterious sonnet “Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell” indicates in its incipit line that the poet laughed while he was on his own, so it was not a response to some kind of social stimulus. He can’t get any answer from heaven or hell, so he turns to his own heart. […]
“Language most shows a man: Speak, that I may see thee. It springs out of the most retired and inmost parts of us, and is the image of the parent of it, the mind. No glass renders a man’s form or likeness so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man; and […]
via Duels, imprisonment… and you thought poets are boring — Eli Gilic blog
Created photo PicCollage writing my own. A piece of a poem I wrote a while ago.
I was inspired to write my book by the most beautiful books by the British writer Jane Austen. Jane Austen was a Georgian era author, best known for her social commentary in novels including ‘Sense and Sensibility,’ ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and ‘Emma.’ Jane Austen was born in Steventon, Hampshire, on 16 December 1775. She was […]
“All good poems are victories over something.” “Poetry does so many different things, it’s difficult to say anything definitive about its role, which of course varies from culture to culture. It can range from being stories of the tribe to the private lyric, to being as W.H. Auden said “the clear expression of mixed feelings” […]
via 10 Great Quotes About Poets, Poetry, and Writing by Stephen Dunn — Paul’s Poetry Playground
[Many thanks to Peter Jordens for bringing this item to our attention.] CBC Books’s original writing series, “Transmission,” reflecting on life during COVID-19. brings us a beautiful poem by Olive Senior, inspired by the death of George Floyd, “B for Breathe.” See the full article at CBC Books. Olive Senior has been sharing poems on Twitter throughout […]
via The death of George Floyd inspired this powerful poem by Olive Senior — Repeating Islands
Suddenly she hadn’t the heart to quarrel.
‘He’s faithless and won’t change’
and with that thought was freed.
After he had gone out, she packed
and put her suitcase by the door.
A last look before leaving.
The rug chosen together in Istanbul,
chess set lovingly given him.
‘Three years and nothing.’
She walked towards the traffic and hailed a taxi,
in her raised hand the black queen.
Serene and silent
autumn is
my favorite season,
showing the colors
in the setting sun.
Its brush, a dried wildflower
bouquet. in deep rose,
dusty plum, rusty red,
wine and tangerine,
golden-yellow,
and marigold,
beholden in my eyes
until the snow flies
moving autumn aside
the earth turning sterile white.
“I consider trial by jury as the only anchor yet imagined by man by which a government can be held to the principles of its Constitution.” Thomas Jefferson, president 51 Senators
POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film. 