Paul Christensen: A Comforting Breeze
I am hopeful again, a man who has awakened from a long dream to find that heaven has opened its granary at last and spilled this nourishment down upon each of us, all of us.
Beth Peyton: Physically Distant and Socially Awkward
“You’re not wearing a mask,” you said to the salesclerk.
Tom Engelhardt: The World We are Passing on to our children and grandchildren
Let’s just hope that, when it comes to creating a better world out of such a god-awful mess, the generations that follow us prove better at it than mine did.
Patricia A. Nugent: A Yawn is Better than a Gasp
I’m sending money, canvassing, registering voters, and voting for Joe.
Alexis Rhone Fancher: Post Mortem
It’s the last time, I swear, except this time I mean it. The last time I mourn Kate so hard I don’t eat, unless you consider alcohol a meal. The last time I drive drunk the five miles to Chuck’s house, at midnight, despondent, disheveled, swigging Stoli…
Paul Christensen: The American Muse
We let the unresolved issues and crises that face us mount up beyond the poet’s window, as the writer gropes for a language in which to imagine something beyond the claustrophobic assumptions we have accepted as our grasp of the world.
Helen Caldicott: The Lessons We Still Haven’t Learned From Hiroshima and Nagasaki
The United States needs to rise to its full moral and spiritual height and lead the world to sanity and survival.
Michael Simms: Praise the Poet
Empires fall and buildings crumble, but songs and stories survive.
Mike Schneider: Rain-Father of Narcissism & the Inner Tyrant
Remembering Tony Hoagland (1953-2018)
Asadullah Haroon: 13 Years Without Trial at Guantanamo, My Hunger Strike Is All I Have Left
“Give me freedom or give me death.”
Danny Sjursen: Undercover Patriots
Trump, Tulsa, and the Rise of Military Dissent
Michael Simms: Bus
One afternoon at a bus stop in Ruston, Louisiana we picked up a single passenger, a huge man in a dirty plaid shirt, grease-stained khakis, and unlaced boots covered in mud.
Ari Honarvar: When Savoring a Pleasant Moment is a Radical Act
And then someone from another rooftop shouted a verse of Rumi’s poetry into the clear night air.
Paul Christensen: On Silence
I am possessed of a brooding spirit, some ominous angel who has landed on my shoulders, staring at my ear. It wants to know why I do not understand silence, the poetry of space.
