Michael Simms: Re-reading Christina Rossetti's 'In an Artist's Studio'
The value of Rossetti’s poem lies in both the expert use of the Petrarchan sonnet, a particularly challenging form to master in English, and in the poet’s complex stance on the role of art in creating and re-enforcing images of women.
Arlene Weiner: November
He tears off summer’s dress,
exposes trunk and limb, threatens
worse coming. Yet he brings gifts…
David Huddle: Bliss Happens
It’s talk that charms the heart. I’ve had it in real
life–folks who conversed with me the way Armstrong
and Fitzgerald sang duets.
David Huddle: Collusion
Ignorant high school bully that he is,
our fake President tweets out a nickname
for anyone who thwarts or critiques him–
those who care about decency or ethics
or just basic intelligence.
Ellen McGrath Smith — Shaken 48: How careful was I when I took my way
Hands in my pockets, the salt on the streets,
the yellowing aura that means you are here
by my side again, waking me in dread
with no buffer or bounce. It’s been ten years.
Robinson Jeffers: Wonder and Joy
The things that one grows tired of—O, be sure They are only foolish artificial things! Can a bird ever tire of having wings? And I, so long as life and … Continue reading
Molly Fisk: Singing Canyon Sonnet
I have to say something about the blue grasses by the side of the road, the red rock rising behind them, a lacy kind of scrub juniper, yellow-green in afternoon … Continue reading
Doug Anderson: In These Times
The fawn was lost, it seemed to me, stumbling through the foggy field and disappearing. I went after it, not knowing why, thought I might help somehow. Wanted to hold … Continue reading
Claude McKay: If We Must Die
If we must die, let it not be like hogsHunted and penned in an inglorious spot,While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,Making their mock at our accursèd lot.If … Continue reading
Claude McKay: America
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness, And sinks into my throat her tiger’s tooth, Stealing my breath of life, I will confess I love this cultured hell that tests … Continue reading
Christina Rossetti: From Sunset to Star Rise
Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, A silly sheep benighted from the fold, A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. … Continue reading
Michael T. Young: An American Tree
A tree is never just a tree, it’s not just maple, spruce, or birch but always this tree rooted in American soil, its rot peculiar to this latitude and history, … Continue reading
Andrena Zawinski: Twilit Sonnet
In twilight’s dusky backstreets and muted alleys, the dispossessed huddle for the evening in boxes or sleeping bags, under freeways, at doorways, inside storage bins. They retreat to the … Continue reading
Edna St. Vincent Millay: What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII)
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts … Continue reading
