A Friendly Reminder | Scott Thomas Outlar

Geese were flying south for the winter. honking along the way, promising to return again someday. The post Geese Headed South | Mary Bone appeared first on Best Poetry. Go to Source Author: Best Poetry Online

— Because you don’t save, Mr Deasy said, pointing his finger. You don’t know yet what money is. Money is power. When you have lived as long as I have. I know, I know. If youth but knew. But what does Shakespeare say? Put but money in thy purse. — Iago, Stephen murmured. He lifted his gaze from the…

                                    Weary of grandma’s antique Woodstock stories, Well-off Winnetka women wearing whatever; Winsome women, wind whipping their hair, Wielding wicked witticisms with no apology; Women wandering to where restaurants lie Among the pussywillows, women whispering, Weaving wildflowers, warbling…

Mists in whirlpool autumn is spent summer time shapes events into ordinary lives. Only people are missing in this part of the town. The post People Are Missing | Ananya S. Guha appeared first on Best Poetry. Go to Source Author: Best Poetry Online

So, we’ll go no more a roving    So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving,    And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath,    And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe,    And love itself have rest. Though the night…

Bob Gottlieb, a New Yorker who edited The New Yorker, died the other day, just a fortnight after he had turned 92. He made his name as a book editor, first at Simon & Schuster,  then at Knopf, where he was editor-in-chief. He was also an author, a dance and book critic, a father, a…