POESY: JUNE 7
Gwendolyn Brooks (June 7, 1917 – December 3, 2000) Shortly after her birth in Topeka, Kansas, Gwendolyn Brooks's family moved to Chicago. She grew up during turbulent racial times, the dynamics of which influenced her writing. POESY: FEBRUARY 2017 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MAY 2019
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2017
Emma Lazarus July 22, 1849 – November 19, 1887 New York born American Jewish poet best known for "The New Colossus" written in 1883. In 1912 the lines from her poem were used on a bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. POESY: FEBRUARY 2010 French poet, novelist, essayist, human rights activist, statesman. Originally a Royalist, over time he became an ardent proponent of Republicanism and served both in congress and in the senate. POESY: JULY 2014
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: WINTER POETRY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: SEPTEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: REMEMBRANCE DAY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: FEBRUARY 2017 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MAY 2019
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2017
Emma Lazarus July 22, 1849 – November 19, 1887 New York born American Jewish poet best known for "The New Colossus" written in 1883. In 1912 the lines from her poem were used on a bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. POESY: JUNE 7
Gwendolyn Brooks (June 7, 1917 – December 3, 2000) Shortly after her birth in Topeka, Kansas, Gwendolyn Brooks's family moved to Chicago. She grew up during turbulent racial times, the dynamics of which influenced her writing. POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: WINTER POETRY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: REMEMBRANCE DAY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: FEBRUARY 2010 French poet, novelist, essayist, human rights activist, statesman. Originally a Royalist, over time he became an ardent proponent of Republicanism and served both in congress and in the senate. POESY: JULY 2014
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: SEPTEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: AUGUST 2019
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: FEBRUARY 2019 Howard Nemerov (February 29, 1920 – July 5, 1991) was United States Poet Laureate on two separate occasions: from 1963 to 1964, and from 1988 to 1990.
POESY: JUNE 2012
English poet and novelist Hardy's first fame and success came with his popular novels. Some of his better-known works include Far from the Madding Crowd (1874), The Return of the Native (1878), The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891), and Jude the Obscure (1895). Along with receiving literary praise, his work was criticized as too shocking for Victorian sensibilities POESY: FEBRUARY 2011 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2012
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: SEPTEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: NOVEMBER 2010 Tennessee-born Agee (pronounced AY-jee) was a poet, novelist, journalist, screenwriter and influential film critic. In 1958 he won a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for his autobiographical novel, A Death in the Family. In 1934, he published his only volume of poetry, Permit Me Voyage. Among his screenwriting credits in the 1950s: The African Queen (1951) and The Night of the Hunter (1955). POESY: NOVEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MAY 2009
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: FEBRUARY 2017 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MAY 2019
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2017
Emma Lazarus July 22, 1849 – November 19, 1887 New York born American Jewish poet best known for "The New Colossus" written in 1883. In 1912 the lines from her poem were used on a bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. POESY: JUNE 7
Gwendolyn Brooks (June 7, 1917 – December 3, 2000) Shortly after her birth in Topeka, Kansas, Gwendolyn Brooks's family moved to Chicago. She grew up during turbulent racial times, the dynamics of which influenced her writing. POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: WINTER POETRY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: REMEMBRANCE DAY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: FEBRUARY 2010 French poet, novelist, essayist, human rights activist, statesman. Originally a Royalist, over time he became an ardent proponent of Republicanism and served both in congress and in the senate. POESY: JULY 2014
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: SEPTEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JUNE 7
Gwendolyn Brooks (June 7, 1917 – December 3, 2000) Shortly after her birth in Topeka, Kansas, Gwendolyn Brooks's family moved to Chicago. She grew up during turbulent racial times, the dynamics of which influenced her writing. POESY: FEBRUARY 2017 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MAY 2019
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2017
Emma Lazarus July 22, 1849 – November 19, 1887 New York born American Jewish poet best known for "The New Colossus" written in 1883. In 1912 the lines from her poem were used on a bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. POESY: FEBRUARY 2010 French poet, novelist, essayist, human rights activist, statesman. Originally a Royalist, over time he became an ardent proponent of Republicanism and served both in congress and in the senate. POESY: JULY 2014
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: WINTER POETRY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: SEPTEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: REMEMBRANCE DAY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: AUGUST 2019
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: FEBRUARY 2019 Howard Nemerov (February 29, 1920 – July 5, 1991) was United States Poet Laureate on two separate occasions: from 1963 to 1964, and from 1988 to 1990.
POESY: JUNE 2012
English poet and novelist Hardy's first fame and success came with his popular novels. Some of his better-known works include Far from the Madding Crowd (1874), The Return of the Native (1878), The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891), and Jude the Obscure (1895). Along with receiving literary praise, his work was criticized as too shocking for Victorian sensibilities POESY: FEBRUARY 2011 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2012
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: SEPTEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: NOVEMBER 2010 Tennessee-born Agee (pronounced AY-jee) was a poet, novelist, journalist, screenwriter and influential film critic. In 1958 he won a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for his autobiographical novel, A Death in the Family. In 1934, he published his only volume of poetry, Permit Me Voyage. Among his screenwriting credits in the 1950s: The African Queen (1951) and The Night of the Hunter (1955). POESY: NOVEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MAY 2009
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 19
English poet Arthur Seymour John Tessimond July 19, 1902 - May 13, 1962 Atta
POESY: JUNE 2
English poet and novelist Hardy's first fame and success came with his popular novels. Some of his better-known works include Far from the Madding Crowd (1874), The Return of the Native (1878), The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891), and Jude the Obscure (1895). Along with receiving literary praise, his work was criticized as too shocking for Victorian sensibilities POESY: ISAAC ROSENBERG Isaac Rosenberg November 25, 1890 – April 1, 1918 Considered to be one of the greatest of all English war poets August 1914 POESY: NOVEMBER 23 -- PAUL CELAN Paul Celan November 23, 1920 — April 20, 1970 Born Paul Antschel in Romania, into a German-Jewish family, he was one of the major POESY: JULY 22
Emma Lazarus July 22, 1849 – November 19, 1887 New York born American Jewish poet best known for "The New Colossus" written in 1883. In 1912 the lines from her poem were used on a bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. POESY: AUGUST 22
Dorothy Parker August 22, 1893 – June 7, 1967 American poet, author, critic, well known for her witty, satirical writings POESY: MAY 31
American poet Walt Whitman May 31, 1819 - March 26, 1892 Banned in Boston* and other cities because his books of poetry were considered obscene, offensive, pornographic by many straight-laced citizens of the era, he was a free spirit, original thinker, and revered by many- POESY: FEBRUARY 24 -- WELDON KEES Weldon Kees c 1954, Photograph by William Heick Weldon Kees February 24, 1914 - July 18, 1955 Nebraska-born Kees was a poet, shor POESY: MARCH 26 -- ROBERT FROST Robert Frost March 26, 1874 -- January 29, 1963 Robert Frost's wonderful nature poetry-- Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in POESY: JULY 12 -- HENRY DAVID THOREAU Massachusetts-born Thoreau is best known for his book Walden, based on journals he wrote during a two-year solitary stay at Walden Pond, and his essay Civil Disobedience, a statement of his philosophy of passive resistance against unjust laws and wars. POESY: JULY 19
English poet Arthur Seymour John Tessimond July 19, 1902 - May 13, 1962 Atta
POESY: JUNE 2
English poet and novelist Hardy's first fame and success came with his popular novels. Some of his better-known works include Far from the Madding Crowd (1874), The Return of the Native (1878), The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891), and Jude the Obscure (1895). Along with receiving literary praise, his work was criticized as too shocking for Victorian sensibilities POESY: ISAAC ROSENBERG Isaac Rosenberg November 25, 1890 – April 1, 1918 Considered to be one of the greatest of all English war poets August 1914 POESY: NOVEMBER 23 -- PAUL CELAN Paul Celan November 23, 1920 — April 20, 1970 Born Paul Antschel in Romania, into a German-Jewish family, he was one of the major POESY: JULY 22
Emma Lazarus July 22, 1849 – November 19, 1887 New York born American Jewish poet best known for "The New Colossus" written in 1883. In 1912 the lines from her poem were used on a bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. POESY: AUGUST 22
Dorothy Parker August 22, 1893 – June 7, 1967 American poet, author, critic, well known for her witty, satirical writings POESY: MAY 31
American poet Walt Whitman May 31, 1819 - March 26, 1892 Banned in Boston* and other cities because his books of poetry were considered obscene, offensive, pornographic by many straight-laced citizens of the era, he was a free spirit, original thinker, and revered by many- POESY: FEBRUARY 24 -- WELDON KEES Weldon Kees c 1954, Photograph by William Heick Weldon Kees February 24, 1914 - July 18, 1955 Nebraska-born Kees was a poet, shor POESY: MARCH 26 -- ROBERT FROST Robert Frost March 26, 1874 -- January 29, 1963 Robert Frost's wonderful nature poetry-- Fire and Ice Some say the world will end in POESY: JULY 12 -- HENRY DAVID THOREAU Massachusetts-born Thoreau is best known for his book Walden, based on journals he wrote during a two-year solitary stay at Walden Pond, and his essay Civil Disobedience, a statement of his philosophy of passive resistance against unjust laws and wars. POESY: REMEMBERING
And There Was a Great Calm. BY THOMAS HARDY (On the Signing of the Armistice, 11 Nov. 1918) I. There had been years of Passion—scorching, cold, POESY: ISAAC ROSENBERG Isaac Rosenberg November 25, 1890 – April 1, 1918 Considered to be one of the greatest of all English war poets August 1914 POESY: JUNE 2
English poet and novelist Hardy's first fame and success came with his popular novels. Some of his better-known works include Far from the Madding Crowd (1874), The Return of the Native (1878), The Mayor of Casterbridge (1886), Tess of the D'Urbervilles (1891), and Jude the Obscure (1895). Along with receiving literary praise, his work was criticized as too shocking for Victorian sensibilities POESY: FEBRUARY 27 -- LONGFELLOW Henry Wadsworth Longfellow February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882 A Gleam of Sunshine
POESY: AUG 3
Rupert Brooke (August 3, 1887 – April 23, 1915) was a British poet best known for his idealistic, naively patriotic War Sonnets written during the First World War. POESY: JANUARY 17TH
One of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America, Franklin signed both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Through his long colorful life he was at various times an editor, printer, merchant, writer, scientist, inventor, soldier, activist, politician, postmaster, diplomat, philanthropist, and demonstrated his genius at solving problems with innumerable practical POESY: FEBRUARY 24 -- WELDON KEES Weldon Kees c 1954, Photograph by William Heick . Weldon Kees February 24, 1914 - July 18, 1955. Nebraska-born Kees was a poet, short story writer, journalist, painter, art critic, musician POESY: OCT 30TH
Chénier lived during the turbulent era of the French Revolution. A political moderate, he supported the Revolution until he realized that moderation, justice, and freedom from tyranny were unattainable ideals in the lawless society it spawned. POESY: FEBRUARY 26TH Victor-Marie Hugo February 26, 1802 – May 22, 1885 French poet, novelist, essayist, human rights activist, statesman. Originally a Ro POESY: DEC 30
Rudyard Kipling 1891, from painting by John Maler Collier Joseph Rudyard Kipling (30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936) Born in Bombay, Bri
POESY: MAY 2019
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JUNE 7
Gwendolyn Brooks (June 7, 1917 – December 3, 2000) Shortly after her birth in Topeka, Kansas, Gwendolyn Brooks's family moved to Chicago. She grew up during turbulent racial times, the dynamics of which influenced her writing. POESY: MAY 25
Raymond Clevie Carver, Jr. May 25, 1938 – August 2, 1988 Award-winning American short story writer and poet. [The first p POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2017
Emma Lazarus July 22, 1849 – November 19, 1887 New York born American Jewish poet best known for "The New Colossus" written in 1883. In 1912 the lines from her poem were used on a bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. POESY: WINTER POETRY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2014
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: REMEMBRANCE DAY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: SEPTEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: FEBRUARY 2010 French poet, novelist, essayist, human rights activist, statesman. Originally a Royalist, over time he became an ardent proponent of Republicanism and served both in congress and in the senate. POESY: MAY 2019
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JUNE 7
Gwendolyn Brooks (June 7, 1917 – December 3, 2000) Shortly after her birth in Topeka, Kansas, Gwendolyn Brooks's family moved to Chicago. She grew up during turbulent racial times, the dynamics of which influenced her writing. POESY: MAY 25
Raymond Clevie Carver, Jr. May 25, 1938 – August 2, 1988 Award-winning American short story writer and poet. [The first p POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2017
Emma Lazarus July 22, 1849 – November 19, 1887 New York born American Jewish poet best known for "The New Colossus" written in 1883. In 1912 the lines from her poem were used on a bronze plaque on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty. POESY: WINTER POETRY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 2014
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: REMEMBRANCE DAY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: SEPTEMBER 2014 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: FEBRUARY 2010 French poet, novelist, essayist, human rights activist, statesman. Originally a Royalist, over time he became an ardent proponent of Republicanism and served both in congress and in the senate. POESY
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: NOVEMBER 11TH po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MARCH 2009
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MAY 2009
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: WINTER POETRY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 12 -- HENRY DAVID THOREAU Massachusetts-born Thoreau is best known for his book Walden, based on journals he wrote during a two-year solitary stay at Walden Pond, and his essay Civil Disobedience, a statement of his philosophy of passive resistance against unjust laws and wars. POESY: IN MEMORIAM
Kevan F. Hartwell Dec. 21, 1920 - Oct. 3, 2001 I immediately thought of my father when I came across this quote by George Bernard Sha POESY: REMEMBERING
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: APRIL 23
Happy Birthday William Shakespeare *April 23, 1564 - April 23, 1616 POESY: HAPPY 2008
A poem to bring in the New Year: From 1850 -- Do people's hopes, dreams, wistful desires ever change? "Ring out, wild bells" from In Memoriam by Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) POESY: SEPTEMBER 2007 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MARCH 2009
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JANUARY 2016
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: MAY 2009
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: WINTER POETRY po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: JULY 12 -- HENRY DAVID THOREAU Massachusetts-born Thoreau is best known for his book Walden, based on journals he wrote during a two-year solitary stay at Walden Pond, and his essay Civil Disobedience, a statement of his philosophy of passive resistance against unjust laws and wars. POESY: IN MEMORIAM
Kevan F. Hartwell Dec. 21, 1920 - Oct. 3, 2001 I immediately thought of my father when I came across this quote by George Bernard Sha POESY: REMEMBERING
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: APRIL 23
Happy Birthday William Shakespeare *April 23, 1564 - April 23, 1616 POESY: HAPPY 2008
A poem to bring in the New Year: From 1850 -- Do people's hopes, dreams, wistful desires ever change? "Ring out, wild bells" from In Memoriam by Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) POESY: SEPTEMBER 2007 po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY: NOVEMBER 11TH po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
POESY
po·e·sy n. pl. po·e·sies 1. Poetical works; poetry. 2. The art or practice of composing poems. 3. The inspiration involved in composing poetry.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 12, 2020 HOW WILL IT END?
Fire and Ice
by Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great
And would suffice.
-- Cat
Posted by Cat Dubie
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SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 2019 JONATHAN SWIFT -- NOVEMBER 30, 1667 Jonathan Swift November 30, 1667 --October 19, 1745 Dublin born Jonathan Swift, remembered as a masterful satirist, wrote prose, poetry, essays, and political statements. An ordained Anglican minister, in 1713 he became Dean of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, a post he held until 1742. On Snow
From Heaven I fall, though from earth I begin, No lady alive can show such a skin. I'm bright as an angel, and light as a feather, But heavy and dark, when you squeeze me together. Though candour and truth in my aspect I bear, Yet many poor creatures I help to ensnare. Though so much of Heaven appears in my make, The foulest impressions I easily take. My parent and I produce one another, The mother the daughter, the daughter the mother. An Echo
Never sleeping, still awake, Pleasing most when most I speak; The delight of old and young, Though I speak without a tongue. Nought but one thing can confound me, Many voices joining round me; Then I fret, and rave, and gabble, Like the labourers of Babel. Now I am a dog, or cow, I can bark, or I can low; I can bleat, or I can sing, Like the warblers of the spring. Let the lovesick bard complain, And I mourn the cruel pain; Let the happy swain rejoice, And I join my helping voice: Both are welcome, grief or joy, I with either sport and toy. Though a lady, I am stout, Drums and trumpets bring me out: Then I clash, and roar, and rattle, Join in all the din of battle. Jove, with all his loudest thunder, When I'm vext, can't keep me under; Yet so tender is my ear, That the lowest voice I fear; Much I dread the courtier's fate, When his merit's out of date, For I hate a silent breath, And a whisper is my death. Elegy Upon Tiger
Her dead lady's joy and comfort, Who departed this life The last day of March, 1727: To the great joy of Bryan That his antagonist is gone. And is poor Tiger laid at last so low? O day of sorrow! -Day of dismal woe! Bloodhounds, or spaniels, lap-dogs, 'tis all one, When Death once whistles -snap! -away they're gone. See how she lies, and hangs her lifeless ears, Bathed in her mournful lady's tears! Dumb is her throat, and wagless is her tail, Doomed to the grave, to Death's eternal jail! In a few days this lovely creature must First turn to clay, and then be changed to dust. That mouth which used its lady's mouth to lick Must yield its jaw-bones to the worms to pick. That mouth which used the partridge-wing to eat Must give its palate to the worms to eat. Methinks I see her now in Charon's boat Bark at the Stygian fish which round it float; While Cerberus, alarmed to hear the sound, Makes Hell's wide concave bellow all around. She sees him not, but hears him through the dark, And valiantly returns him bark for bark. But now she trembles -though a ghost, she dreads To see a dog with three large yawning heads. Spare her, you hell-hounds, case your frightful paws, And let poor Tiger 'scape your furious jaws. Let her go safe to the Elysian plains, Where Hylax barks among the Mantuan swains; There let her frisk about her new-found love: She loved a dog when she was here above. The Epitaph
Here lies beneath this marble An animal could bark, or warble: Sometimes a bitch, sometimes a bird, Could eat a tart, or eat a t -. On Gold
All-ruling tyrant of the earth, To vilest slaves I owe my birth, How is the greatest monarch blest, When in my gaudy livery drest! No haughty nymph has power to run From me; or my embraces shun. Stabb'd to the heart, condemn'd to flame, My constancy is still the same. The favourite messenger of Jove, And Lemnian god, consulting strove To make me glorious to the sight Of mortals, and the gods' delight. Soon would their altar's flame expire If I refused to lend them fire. By fate exalted high in place, Lo, here I stand with double face: Superior none on earth I find; But see below me all mankind Yet, as it oft attends the great, I almost sink with my own weight. At every motion undertook, The vulgar all consult my look. I sometimes give advice in writing, But never of my own inditing. I am a courtier in my way; For those who raised me, I betray; And some give out that I entice To lust, to luxury, and dice. Who punishments on me inflict, Because they find their pockets pickt. By riding post, I lose my health, And only to get others wealth. -- Cat
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MONDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2019 REMEMBRANCE DAY
IN FLANDERS FIELDS
BY JOHN MCCRAE
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie, In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.
---Cat Posted by Cat Dubie
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SUNDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2019 SYLVIA PLATH -- OCTOBER 27, 1932 Sylvia Plath October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963 Prolific American poet and writer, Plath struggled with depression throughout her short life. She committed suicide at the age of 31. In 1982 she was awarded a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for _The Collected Poems_.
Balloons
Sylvia Plath
Since Christmas they have lived with us, Guileless and clear, Oval soul-animals,
Taking up half the space, Moving and rubbing on the silk Invisible air drifts, Giving a shriek and pop When attacked, then scooting to rest, barely trembling. Yellow cathead, blue fish ---- Such queer moons we live with Instead of dead furniture! Straw mats, white walls And these traveling
Globes of thin air, red, green, Delighting
The heart like wishes or free Peacocks blessing
Old ground with a feather Beaten in starry metals. Your small
Brother is making
His balloon squeak like a cat. Seeming to see
A funny pink world he might eat on the other side of it, He bites,
Then sits
Back, fat jug
Contemplating a world clear as water. A red
Shred in his little fist. Conversation Among The Ruins Sylvia Plath
Through portico of my elegant house you stalk With your wild furies, disturbing garlands of fruit And the fabulous lutes and peacocks, rending the net Of all decorum which holds the whirlwind back. Now, rich order of walls is fallen; rooks croak Above the appalling ruin; in bleak light Of your stormy eye, magic takes flight Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break. Fractured pillars frame prospects of rock; While you stand heroic in coat and tie, I have sit Composed in Grecian tunic and psyche-knot, Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic: Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate, What ceremony of words can patch the havoc? Elm
Sylvia Plath
for Ruth Fainlight I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root; It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there. Is it the sea you hear in me, Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness? Love is a shadow.
How you lie and cry after it. Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse. All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously, Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf, Echoing, echoing.
Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons? This is rain now, the big hush. And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic. I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets. Scorched to the root My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires. Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs. A wind of such violence Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek. The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radiance scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her. I let her go. I let her go Diminished and flat, as after radical surgery. How your bad dreams possess and endow me. I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love. I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me;
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity. Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart? I am incapable of more knowledge. What is this, this face So murderous in its strangle of branches? ---- Its snaky acids kiss. It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults That kill, that kill, that kill. Gigolo
Sylvia Plath
Pocket watch, I tick well. The streets are lizardly crevices Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide. It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac, A palace of velvet
With windows of mirrors. There one is safe,
There are no family photographs, No rings through the nose, no cries. Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women Gulp at my bulk
And I, in my snazzy blacks, Mill a litter of breasts like jellyfish. To nourish
The cellos of moans I eat eggs -- Eggs and fish, the essentials, The aphrodisiac squid. My mouth sags,
The mouth of Christ
When my engine reaches the end of it. The tattle of my
Gold joints, my way of turning Bitches to ripples of silver Rolls out a carpet, a hush. And there is no end, no end of it. I shall never grow old. New oysters Shriek in the sea and I Glitter like Fontainebleu Gratified,
All the fall of water an eye Over whose pool I tenderly Lean and see me.
Last Words
Sylvia Plath
I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus With tigery stripes, and a face on it Round as the moon, to stare up. I want to be looking at them when they come Picking among the dumb minerals, the roots. I see them already -- the pale, star-distance faces. Now they are nothing, they are not even babies. I imagine them without fathers or mothers, like the first gods. They will wonder if I was important. I should sugar and preserve my days like fruit! My mirror is clouding over -- A few more breaths, and it will reflect nothing at all. The flowers and the faces whiten to a sheet. I do not trust the spirit. It escapes like steam In dreams, through mouth-hole or eye-hole. I can't stop it. One day it won't come back. Things aren't like that. They stay, their little particular lusters Warmed by much handling. They almost purr. When the soles of my feet grow cold, The blue eye of my tortoise will comfort me. Let me have my copper cooking pots, let my rouge pots Bloom about me like night flowers, with a good smell. They will roll me up in bandages, they will store my heart Under my feet in a neat parcel. I shall hardly know myself. It will be dark, And the shine of these small things sweeter than the face of Ishtar. --Cat
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SATURDAY, AUGUST 24, 2019 JORGE LUIS BORGES -- AUGUST 24 Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges Acevedo August 24,1899 -- June 14, 1986 Born in Buenos Aires, Argentina, died in Geneva, Switzerland. Writer, poet, essayist, critic, translator, librarian, known as Jorge Luis Borges. The Art Of Poetry
To gaze at a river made of time and water And remember Time is another river. To know we stray like a river and our faces vanish like water. To feel that waking is another dream that dreams of not dreaming and that the death we fear in our bones is the death that every night we call a dream. To see in every day and year a symbol of all the days of man and his years, and convert the outrage of the years into a music, a sound, and a symbol. To see in death a dream, in the sunset a golden sadness--such is poetry, humble and immortal, poetry, returning, like dawn and the sunset. Sometimes at evening there's a face that sees us from the deeps of a mirror. Art must be that sort of mirror, disclosing to each of us his face. They say Ulysses, wearied of wonders, wept with love on seeing Ithaca, humble and green. Art is that Ithaca, a green eternity, not wonders. Art is endless like a river flowing, passing, yet remaining, a mirror to the same inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same and yet another, like the river flowing. Adam Cast Forth
Was there a Garden or was the Garden a dream? Amid the fleeting light, I have slowed myself and queried, Almost for consolation, if the bygone period Over which this Adam, wretched now, once reigned supreme, Might not have been just a magical illusion Of that God I dreamed. Already it's imprecise In my memory, the clear Paradise, But I know it exists, in flower and profusion, Although not for me. My punishment for life Is the stubborn earth with the incestuous strife Of Cains and Abels and their brood; I await no pardon. Yet, it's much to have loved, to have known true joy, To have had -- if only for just one day -- The experience of touching the living Garden. Translated by Genia Gurarie History Of The Night Throughout the course of the generations men constructed the night. At first she was blindness; thorns raking bare feet, fear of wolves.
We shall never know who forged the word for the interval of shadow dividing the two twilights; we shall never know in what age it came to mean the starry hours.
Others created the myth. They made her the mother of the unruffled Fates that spin our destiny, they sacrificed black ewes to her, and the cock who crows his own death. The Chaldeans assigned to her twelve houses; to Zeno, infinite words. She took shape from Latin hexameters and the terror of Pascal. Luis de Leon saw in her the homeland of his stricken soul. Now we feel her to be inexhaustible like an ancient wine and no one can gaze on her without vertigo and time has charged her with eternity. And to think that she wouldn't exist except for those fragile instruments, the eyes. Remorse For Any Death Free of memory and of hope, limitless, abstract, almost future, the dead man is not a dead man: he is death. Like the God of the mystics, of Whom anything that could be said must be denied, the dead one, alien everywhere, is but the ruin and absence of the world. We rob him of everything, we leave him not so much as a color or syllable: here, the courtyard which his eyes no longer see, there, the sidewalk where his hope lay in wait. Even what we are thinking, he could be thinking; we have divvied up like thieves the booty of nights and days. To A Cat
Mirrors are not more silent nor the creeping dawn more secretive; in the moonlight, you are that panther we catch sight of from afar. By the inexplicable workings of a divine law, we look for you in vain; More remote, even, than the Ganges or the setting sun, yours is the solitude, yours the secret. Your haunch allows the lingering caress of my hand. You have accepted, since that long forgotten past, the love of the distrustful hand. You belong to another time. You are lord of a place bounded like a dream. Posted by Cat Dubie
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TUESDAY, MAY 07, 2019 MAY 7 -- ARCHIBALD MACLEISH Archibald MacLeish (May 7, 1892 – April 20, 1982) Prolific American poet, essayist, playwright, political activist, and for several years at the request of FDR, the Librarian of Congress. He won numerous awards for his poems and plays, among them Pulitzer Prizes and an Academy Award. An Eternity by Archibald MacLeish There is no dusk to be, There is no dawn that was, Only there's now, and now, And the wind in the grass. Days I remember of
Now in my heart, are now; Days that I dream will bloom White the peach bough. Dying shall never be Now in the windy grass; Now under shooken leaves Death never was.
Dr. Sigmund Freud Discovers the Sea Shell by Archibald MacLeish Science, that simple saint, cannot be bothered Figuring what anything is for: Enough for her devotions that things are And can be contemplated soon as gathered. She knows how every living thing was fathered, She calculates the climate of each star, She counts the fish at sea, but cannot care Why any one of them exists, fish, fire or feathered. Why should she? Her religion is to tell By rote her rosary of perfect answers. Metaphysics she can leave to man: She never wakes at night in heaven or hell Staring at darkness. In her holy cell There is no darkness ever: the pure candle Burns, the beads drop briskly from her hand. Who dares to offer Her the curled sea shell! She will not touch it!--knows the world she sees Is all the world there is! Her faith is perfect! And still he offers the sea shell . . . What surf
Of what far sea upon what unknown ground Troubles forever with that asking sound? What surge is this whose question never ceases?
Nocturne by Archibald MacLeish The earth, still heavy and warm with afternoon, Dazed by the moon:
The earth, tormented with the moon’s light, Wandering in the night: La, La, The moon is a lovely thing to see— The moon is an agony. Full moon, moon rise, the old old pain Of brightness in dilated eyes, The ache of still
Elbows leaning on the narrow sill, Of motionless cold hands upon the wet Marble of the parapet, Of open eyelids of a child behind The crooked glimmer of the windown blind, Of sliding faint remindful squares Across the lamplight on the rocking-chairs: Why do we stand so late Stiff fingers on the moonlit gat Why do we stand
To watch so long the fall of moonlight on the sand? What is it we cannot recall? Tormented by the moon’s light The earth turns maundering through the night. The Rock In The Sea by Archibald MacLeish
Think of our blindness where the water burned! Are we so certain that those wings, returned And turning, we had half discerned Before our dazzled eyes had surely seen The bird aloft there, did not mean?— Our hearts so seized upon the sign! Think how we sailed up-wind, the brine Tasting of daphne, the enormous wave Thundering in the water cave— Thunder in stone. And how we beached the skiff And climbed the coral of that iron cliff And found what only in our hearts we’d heard— The silver screaming of that one, white bird: The fabulous wings, the crimson beak That opened, red as blood, to shriek And clamor in that world of stone, No voice to answer but its own. What certainty, hidden in our hearts before, Found in the bird its metaphor?
The End of the World by Archibald MacLeish Quite unexpectedly, as Vasserot The armless ambidextrian was lighting A match between his great and second toe, And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb Quite unexpectedly the top blew off: And there, there overhead, there, there hung over Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes, There in the starless dark, the poise, the hover, There with vast wings across the cancelled skies, There in the sudden blackness the black pall Of nothing, nothing, nothing -- nothing at all. -- Cat
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Pulitzer Prize winner THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 2019 FEBRUARY 29 -- HOWARD NEMEROV Howard Nemerov (February 29, 1920 – July 5, 1991) was United States Poet Laureate on two separate occasions: from 1963 to 1964, and from 1988 to 1990. The Collected Poems of Howard Nemerov won the National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize. He was brother to photographer Diane Nemerov Arbus.
"I got the idea that you were supposed to be plenty morbid and predict the end of civilization many times, but civilization has ended so many times during my brief term on earth that I got a little bored with the theme." -- Howard Nemerov "Write what you know. That should leave you with a lot of free time." -- Howard Nemerov
A Spell before Winter
After the red leaf and the gold have gone, Brought down by the wind, then by hammering rain Bruised and discolored, when October's flame Goes blue to guttering in the cusp, this land Sinks deeper into silence, darker into shade. There is a knowledge in the look of things, The old hills hunch before the north wind blows. Now I can see certain simplicities In the darkening rust and tarnish of the time, And say over the certain simplicities, The running water and the standing stone, The yellow haze of the willow and the black Smoke of the elm, the silver, silent light Where suddenly, readying toward nightfall, The sumac's candelabrum darkly flames. And I speak to you now with the land's voice, It is the cold, wild land that says to you A knowledge glimmers in the sleep of things: The old hills hunch before the north wind blows. The Blue Swallows
Across the millstream below the bridge Seven blue swallows divide the air In shapes invisible and evanescent, Kaleidoscopic beyond the mind’s Or memory’s power to keep them there. “History is where tensions were,” “Form is the diagram of forces.” Thus, helplessly, there on the bridge, While gazing down upon those birds— How strange, to be above the birds!— Thus helplessly the mind in its brain Weaves up relation’s spindrift web, Seeing the swallows’ tails as nibs Dipped in invisible ink, writing… Poor mind, what would you have them write? Some cabalistic history Whose authorship you might ascribe listening do To God? to Nature? Ah, poor ghost, You’ve capitalized your Self enough. That villainous William of Occam Cut out the feet from under that dream Some seven centuries ago. It’s taken that long for the mind To waken, yawn and stretch, to see With opened eyes emptied of speech The real world where the spelling mind Imposes with its grammar book Unreal relations on the blue Swallows. Perhaps when you will have Fully awakened, I shall show you A new thing: even the water Flowing away beneath those birds Will fail to reflect their flying forms, And the eyes that see become as stones Whence never tears shall fall again. O swallows, swallows, poems are not The point. Finding again the world, That is the point, where loveliness Adorns intelligible things Because the mind’s eye lit the sun. Fugue by Howard Nemerov You see them vanish in their speeding cars, The many people hastening through the world, And wonder what they would have done before This time of time speed distance, random streams Of molecules hastened by what rising heat? Was there never a world where people just sat still? Yet they might be all of them contemplatives Of a timeless now, drivers and passengers In the moving cars all facing to the front Which is the future, which is destiny, Which is desire and desire's end - What are they doing but just sitting still? And still at speed they fly away, as still As the road paid out beneath them as it flows Moment by moment into the mirrored past; They spread in their wake the parading fields of food, The windowless works where who is making what, The grey towns where the wishes and the fears are done. The View From An Attic Window Among the high-branching, leafless boughs Above the roof-peaks of the town, Snowflakes unnumberably come down. I watched out of the attic window The laced sway of family trees, Intricate genealogies Whose strict, reserved gentility, Trembling, impossible to bow, Received the appalling fall of snow. All during Sunday afternoon, Not storming, but befittingly, Out of a still, grey, devout sky, The snowflakes fell, until all shapes Went under, and thickening, drunken lines Cobwebbed the sleep of solemn pines. Up in the attic, among many things Inherited and out of style, I cried, then fell asleep awhile, Waking at night now, as the snow- flakes from darkness to darkness go Past yellow lights in the street below. 2
I cried because life is hopeless and beautiful. And like a child I cried myself to sleep High in the head of the house, feeling the hull Beneath me pitch and roll among the steep Mountains and valleys of the many years That brought me to tears. Down in the cellar, furnace and washing machine, Pump, fuse-box, water heater, work their hearts Out at my life, which narrowly runs between Them and this cemetery of spare parts For discontinued men, whose hats and canes Are my rich remains. And women, their portraits and wedding gowns Stacked in the corners, brooding in wooden trunks; And children’s rattles, books about lions and clowns; And headless, hanging dresses swayed like drunks Whenever a living footstep shakes the floor; I mention no more;
But what I thought today, that made me cry, Is this, that we live in two kinds of thing: The powerful trees, thrusting into the sky Their black patience, are one, and that branching Relation teaches how we endure and grow; The other is the snow, Falling in a white chaos from the sky, As many as the sands of all the seas, As all the men who died or who will die, As stars in heaven, as leaves of all the trees; As Abraham was promised of his seed; Generations bleed,
Till I, high in the tower of my time Among familiar ruins, began to cry For accident, sickness, justice, war and crime, Because all died, because I had to die. The snow fell, the trees stood, the promise kept, And a child I slept. -- Cat
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