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W. H. Auden’s “September 1, 1939”
Here it is again: September 1, 1939, eighty-four years later. Can you picture Auden at The Dizzy Club, that “dive” on Fifty-Second Street, (aka Swing Street) on that terrible day when the Germans invaded Poland and quaked the earth? One of the best stanzas is a metaphorical description of that bar and others like it. Click…
They’re Painting the Local Housing Estate | Jo-Ella Sarich
They’re painting the housing estate on our street scaffolding is up like match sticks waiting to burn people call this area the Bronx – I don’t know why About time they got around to this, my husband says as we pass by I suspect it’ll be up for months to come. The court decision came…
Voiceless | Carl Wade Thompson
55 people shot this weekend, quick start to the New Year. Seems like old news in Chicago land, place where the random get killed. What does this say about us, that it happens on our watch? Not far from home, another world, but right here in our back yard. Why are there no marches, no…
Fahrenheit Zebra | Susan N. Aassahde
scullery noon spinach frost bloom samosa mountain spade The post Fahrenheit Zebra | Susan N. Aassahde appeared first on Best Poetry. Go to Source Author: Best Poetry Online
A. R. Ammons’s Last Poem (Twenty-five Years Ago)
“When the bubbles of nothingness rise” When the bubbles of nothingness rise out of nothing – a fine and brittle crust like blown glass, cooled motion, forms and in the rough spots chinks of someday we have our lives build wars, consider prophets, and carefully seek to know what robe or crown to wear…
Pattern | Cattail Jester
There’s a sad pattern of loss and poverty as inevitable as dry skin along the hairline Are they too close to see it, too close to embrace a change… or do they see it, too tired or discouraged to even reach for it? The post Pattern | Cattail Jester appeared first on Best Poetry. Go…