#American Poet

[crystalclaire]

richard siken, war of the foxes, “the worm king’s lullaby”

[galleryofart]

The Flight of the Arrow

Artist: Thomas Buchanan Read (American poet and painter, 1822- 1872)

Genre: Narrative Art

Date: 1868

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, Philadelphia, PA, United States

[swforester]

The grave of poet Emily Dickenson, said to be one of the most important figures in American poetry. Yet when she was "called back" as it says on her grave in 1886, she was unknown.

West Cemetery

Amherst MA 2/26/25

[env0writes]

Impure Pilgrimage, 5.11(27).24 “In Memoriam; Always Forget"

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!   Photo by my friend Mika

They just folded up his flag Sewn up tight from bullet holes Gunned him down cause he's a fag That's how the story goes

We've heard of on the news With unrest less than civil But Timmy is left hanging from a noose More at five, next Clark Deville

On it goes and goes and goes Fighting for a country lost How the flag it boldly shows Who knows it's history's cost

Yet still the same old stories Four hundred years ago Reenacted for their glories What was learned? Not sure, although

Is it better than it once was Is better yet to come I'll bleed a little longer if A is positive, my cuz Walk on into battle, with a flag and with a drum

Swim through the halls of each first and secondary school Puberty hits hard but not a caliber punch School pride changed their colors to red, dyed in the pool (of) Cafeteria lines like a gallery in fourth period lunch

There ain't no glory to be had In red, blue, and white in Baghdad No songs sang do to re to me to fa No lesson learned, America

[songbirds-here]

— ‘Our share of night to bear’ (Emily Dickinson)

[famousfor15]

[vox-anglosphere]

Fifty years before social media, Robert Frost saw what was coming..

[theaskew]

Kwame Dawes, The Remnant, 2204. From the poetry collection, “The Best American Poetry 2024”, David Lehman and Mary Jo Salter [Scribner (September 3, 2024)]. 

[vanalex]

"I Watched the Moon Around the House" by Emily Dickinson Another moon-obsessed poet, Dickinson took the mysterious orb as a metaphor for all sorts of moods. One night, sleepless as ever, she encountered it as a familiar reflection of her own strangeness.

I watched the Moon around the House

Until upon a Pane—

She stopped—a Traveller’s privilege—for Rest—

And there upon

I gazed—as at a stranger—

The Lady in the Town

Doth think no incivility

To lift her Glass—upon—

But never Stranger justified

The Curiosity

Like Mine—for not a Foot—nor Hand—

Nor Formula—had she—

But like a Head—a Guillotine

Slid carelessly away—

Did independent, Amber—

Sustain her in the sky—

Or like a Stemless Flower—

Upheld in rolling Air

By finer Gravitations—

Than bind Philosopher—

No Hunger—had she—nor an Inn—

Her Toilette—to suffice—

Nor Avocation—nor Concern

For little Mysteries

As harass us—like Life—and Death—

And Afterwards—or Nay—

But seemed engrossed to Absolute—

With shining—and the Sky—

The privilege to scrutinize

Was scarce upon my Eyes

When, with a Silver practise—

She vaulted out of Gaze—

And next—I met her on a Cloud—

Myself too far below

To follow her superior Road—

Or its advantage—Blue—

[crushondonald]

The thing with October is, I think, it somehow gets in your very blood. Unapologetically. Almost ruthlessly.

Anne Sexton

American poet, 9 November 1928 - 4 October 1974

[crystalclaire]

by Mary Oliver

[fokikowest]

‘At 80, I still have a lot of anger’: American poet Nikki Giovanni

[orchard-bliss]

All day I’ve built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.

Anne Sexton

[env0writes]

Juniper Journal’s Vol. 2, 6.25.24 “Waiting Over and Over Again"

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists!   Photo by @env0

Waiting, wasting Copy-pasting the same sentence Over again, over again Over again Ad nauseum sick of, marketing– Causing a racket – racketeering Profiteering off the masses Say “Messiah” in the message –not a missive will be missed Holey are the records and the relics And once over’d again are the workers Wasting up and down for food For thought, so we thought Fought for the day Ad hominen, Homo Sapien Homunculus work-from-home In the eucre-rest past-five o’clock Rest, for the west never sleeps Never weeps for its followers Devout in their labour, their eyes On their neighbor Wishing over again, over again Over again How they wish they were where Over where the grass is The glass ceiling is Greener, a little less meaner Where they’re seen or heard apart from – The herd Over again wishing Time is over, again Looking, crooking, hooking their bit of green Wishing for someone else’s world Where they’ll be where the grass is greener Than the verdant dance-trance of their own plants Greener than farther fall and fallacies Scribbled for their future plans Copy-pasted Over again, over again Over, again

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"No other shore, only this bank / On which the living gather."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[the-cricket-chirps]

Lynn Goldsmith

Patti Smith, New York City

1976