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Poetry


Wind (and God)

“A Rapid — Footless Guest — / To Offer Whom a Chair / Were as Impossible as Hand / A Sofa to the Air —”

“Aubade,” by Philip Larkin: A Poem for Ash Wednesday

“I See What’s Really Always There: / Unresting Death, a Whole Day Nearer Now”

Demanding a Miracle in 2021

“Alone, Alone, About a Dreadful Wood / Of Conscious Evil Runs a Lost Mankind”

The Post-Christmas Blues and W. H. Auden’s Christmas Oratorio

God Will Cheat No One, not Even the World of Its Triumph

What to Do on the Worst Day of Your Life

Sit Down (or Fall Down). Anywhere Will Do. / Wherever You Are, Stop. Breathe. Cry.

“Another Advent” by Mischa Willett

This poem was excerpted from Mischa Willett’s book, The Elegy Beta.

Come crack the frozen
branch-ends that’ve had you so long
penned up as in winter-trap,
snow-drift, tree-sap.

Have the whole Earth heave
and scream at your verdant birth;
bring in your train the bright green
lips of leaves, the lengthening day,
the suggestion of sex, a mess;
wreck the hard and frostbitten ground
with your trillion shoots; break through,
crown, come in like a tooth
into a world sore, into the ache;

come save the stupid, drooped
stems of our hearts before they wilt;
by the Earth’s cataclysmic tilt,
Primavera, evergreen hope,
get here.

The More Walt Whitman Strove for Perfection, the More It Eluded Him

“God Comes a Loving Bed-Fellow and Sleeps at My Side All Night”

Variations on Beowulf, Feminist and Christian

“Why not Face / the Boss, and at Death Seek / Salves, not Scars?”

Pandemic Poetry from W. B. Yeats

“The Best Lack All Conviction, while the Worst / Are Full of Passionate Intensity.”

Sacred Wounds that Give Life

“The Wound is the Place Where the Light Enters You. And It Did.”

Devotion and Metaphor, Consciousness and Grace: Mark Jarman’s Dailiness

“Failure is the Reason for Grace. We Might Say it is the Reason for Poetry.”

Emily Dickinson Has More Hope than Pharaoh

It is an honorable Thought
And makes One lift One’s Hat
As One met sudden Gentlefolk
Upon a daily Street,

That We’ve immortal Place
Though Pyramids decay
And Kingdoms, like the Orchard
Flit Russetly away

(Franklin Variorum 1115A)