For every one of those faces pictured on the obituary page, thousands of memories have been swept out of the world, never to be recovered. I encourage everyone to write down their memories before it's too late.
This touching poem by Dan Gerber, who lives in California, captures the memory of a father’s advice, but beneath the practical surface of that advice we can sense a great...
I once wrote a not-so-very-good poem called “Picking Up After the Dead,” about the putting-in-order we feel compelled to do when a family member has passed on. In this poem...
Our sense of smell is, as you know, not nearly as good as that of our dogs, but it can still affect us powerfully.
By Ted Kooser Former U.S. Poet Laureate One of the most distinctive sounds in small-town America is the chiming of horseshoe pitching. A friend always carries a pair in the trunk of his car. He’ll stop at a park in some little town and start pitching, and soon, he says, others will hear that ringing and suddenly appear as if out of thin air. In this poem, X.J. Kennedy captures the fellowship of horseshoe pitchers. Old Men Pitching Horseshoes Back in a yard where ringers groove a ditch, These four in shirtsleeves congregate to pitch Dirt-burnished iron.
Here’s a splendid poem by James Doyle, who lives in Colorado, about the way children make up mythic selves that will in some way serve them in life. To create one’s self as a palm reader is only one of many possibilities. In the Planetarium I read the palms of the other kids on the field trip to see which ones would grow up to be astronauts.
Laura Dimmit is from Joplin, Missouri, and her family survived the fierce tornado of May, 2011.
Mark Sanders, who lives in Texas, is not only a good poet, but he’s an old friend to the poetry of my home ground, working hard as teacher, editor, and publisher to bring Great Plains poetry to the attention of readers across the country.
I’ve recently published a children’s book about a man who is so fussy about his yard that he loses his home, so I was immediately taken by this fine poem by Lynne Sharon Schwartz about a similar man. We all enjoy writing that confirms what we’ve privately observed about the world. Schwartz lives in New York City. Cement Backyard