Ted Olson: Bob Dylan and the creative leap that transformed modern music
Sixty years ago, on Halloween Night 1964, a 23-year-old Dylan took the stage at New York City’s Philharmonic Hall. He had become a star within the niche genre of revivalist folk music. But by 1964 Dylan was building a much larger fanbase through performing and recording his own songs.
Baron Wormser: Striving with a God
In his best poems, something elemental is occurring – the clash between a lone life and the accrued verity of socialized watchfulness, the adages that are spoken without a second thought.
Darnell Arnoult: This Too Is Creation & Work
Moonlight freely wants its glory,
holy howling eyes singing
heaven’s blues.
Ma Yongbo: I Have Always Been in Love With You (English and Chinese)
Sometimes I suddenly stop on the road
feel a breeze brushing my ears
That’s you passing by
karla k. morton: Mountain Doggerel
I open night’s window
to the long song of the river—
Louise Bogan: Musician
Now with great ease, and slow,
The thumb, the finger, the strong
Delicate hand plucks the long
String it was born to know.
Alfred Corn: Naskeag
Once a day the rocks, with little warning—
not much looked for even by the spruce
and fir ever at attention above—
fetch up on these tidal flats and bars.
Nidia Hernández: Templanza | Fortitude
turtles
blend their swimming with the sea
Pablo Otavalo: Scorched Earth, Illinois
the bears never seemed to wander
far, they just milled around town, knocked down
a few garbage cans and waited to be brought back
to their pens
Michelle Bitting: Savior
Who will be called to save the world?
No one knows
but the beast rides farther into green,
its mane swaying to the trill of a violin.
Robert Okaji: Knowing What I Now Know
I would love more.
I would love better.
I would love.
Michael Simms: Jubilate
Now I shall praise our dog Josie
the bodhisattva of our household
the perfect embodiment
of devotion, always present
in spontaneous awe
Richard Hoffman: Looking at Photos of Gaza | November, 2024
I am no longer bewildered by cruelty,
have not been speechless facing suffering,
but I have nothing now to say to anyone
to move them to change their minds.
Joy Gaines-Friedler: Guest Appearance
In the end, grenade pins sparkled in the desert sun
outside the packed then blown-to-pieces shelters,
miles of machine gunned cars,
(drivers plastered against glass & rubber),
babies killed in their cribs & bunk beds
