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I waited on
In the late autumn moonlight,
A train droning out of thought—

The mind on moonlight
And on trains.

Blind as a thread of water
Stirring through a cold like dust,
Lonely beyond all silence

And humming this to children,
The nostalgic listeners in sleep,

Because no guardian
Strides through distance upon distance,
His eyes a web of sleep.

Yvor Winters, (1900 - 1968), was an American poet, literary critic and professor. Winters was the author of many books. He married the poet and novelist Janet Lewis in 1926. He was awarded the 1961 Bollingen Prize for Poetry for his Collected Poems. Read more

“The Moonlight” was published in Secession no. 7 (Winter, 1924).This poem is in the public domain.

Fearless riders of the gale,
In your bleak eyes is the memory
Of sinking ships:
Desire, unsatisfied,
Droops from your wings.

You lie at dusk
In the sea’s ebbing cradles,
Unresponsive to its mood;
Or hover and swoop,
Snatching your food and rising again,

You veer and steer your callous course,
Unloved of other birds;
And in your soulless cry
Is the mocking echo
Of woman’s weeping in the night.

Leonora Speyer, (1872 - 1956) was an American poet and professional violinist born in Washington, D.C. She studied music in Brussels, Paris, and Leipzig and started writing poetry in 1915 when she moved back to N.Y. She was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1927 for her poetry collection "Fiddler’s Farewell" which was followed by other poetry collections........ Wikipedia
This poem is in the public domain.

I sought the wood in summer
When every twig was green;
The rudest boughs were tender,
And buds were pink between.
Light-fingered aspens trembled
In fitful sun and shade,
And daffodils were golden
In every starry glade.
The brook sang like a robin—
My hand could check him where
The lissome maiden willows
Shook out their yellow hair.

“How frail a thing is Beauty,”
I said, “when every breath
She gives the vagrant summer
But swifter woos her death.
For this the star dust troubles,
For this have ages rolled:
To deck the wood for bridal
And slay her with the cold.”

I sought the wood in winter
When every leaf was dead;
Behind the wind-whipped branches
The winter sun set red.
The coldest star was rising
To greet that bitter air,
The oaks were writhen giants;
Nor bud nor bloom was there.
The birches, white and slender,
In deathless marble stood,
The brook, a white immortal,
Slept silent in the wood.

“How sure a thing is Beauty,”
I cried. “No bolt can slay,
No wave nor shock despoil her,
No ravishers dismay.
Her warriors are the angels
That cherish from afar,
Her warders people Heaven
And watch from every star.
The granite hills are slighter,
The sea more like to fail;
Behind the rose the planet,
The Law behind the veil.”

This poem is in the Public Domain.

Willa Sibert Cather (1873 – 1947) American writer known for her novels of life on the Great Plains, including O Pioneers!, The Song of the Lark, and My Ántonia. She was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1923 for "One of Ours", a novel set during World War I.
Cather achieved recognition as a novelist of the frontier and pioneer experience.

(Excerpt from Ae Hee Lee's  "A Study through Homes")

Ae Hee Lee was born in South Korea, raised in Peru, and now resides in the U.S.  She is the author of poetry chapbooks: Bedtime, Riverbed , Dear bear and Connotary. Most recently, her full-length poetry collection Asterism has been awarded the 2022 Dorset Prize by John Murillo and will be published by Tupelo Press in 2024. See more

"Only a dad, but he gives his all
To smooth the way for his children small,
Doing, with courage stern and grim,
The deeds that his father did for him.
This is the line that for him I pen,
Only a dad, but the best of men"

Last Stanza from Edgard Guess' Poem "Only a Dad" See complete poem


They met and they talked where the crossroads meet,
Four men from the four winds come,
And they talked of the horse, for they loved the theme,
And never a man was dumb.
The man from the North loved the strength of the horse,
And the man from the East his pace,
And the man from the South loved the speed of the horse,
And the man from the West his grace.

So these four men from the four winds come,
Each paused a space in his course
And smiled in the face of his fellow man
And lovingly talked of the horse.
Then each man parted and went his way
As their different courses ran;
And each man journeyed with peace in his heart
And loving his fellow man.


They met the next year where the crossroads meet,
Four men from the four winds come;
And it chanced as they met that they talked of God,
And never a man was dumb.
One imagined God in the shape of a man.
A spirit did one insist.
One said that nature itself was God.
One said that he didn’t exist.

They lashed each other with tongues that stung,
That smote as with a rod;
Each glared in the face of his fellow man,
And wrathfully talked of God.
Then each man parted and went his way,
As their different courses ran;
And each man journeyed with wrath in his heart,
And hating his fellow man.

(This poem is in the public domain)

Sam Walter Foss (1858 – 1911) was an American librarian and poet born in Candia, New Hampshire. He gra­du­at­ed from Brown Un­i­ver­si­ty, Pro­vi­dence, Rhode Is­land, in 1882, His works include The House by the Side of the Road, Two Gods and The Coming American. He served as librarian at the Somerville Public Library in Massachusetts.  Foss used to write a poem a day for the newspapers and his five volumes of collected poetry

Slim Sentinels
Stretching lacy arms
About a slumbrous moon;
Black quivering
Stencilled on the petal
Of a bluebell;
Ink sputtered
On a robin’s breast;
The jagged rent
Of mountains
Reflected in a
Stilly sleeping lake;
Fragile pinnacles
Of fairy castles;
Torn webs of shadows;
Printed ’gainst the sky—
The trembling beauty
Of an urgent pine.

Helene Johnson (1906-1995) - Writer and poet during the Harlem Renaissance movement. Johnson published many poems in small magazines during the1920s and early 1930s, including the first and only issue of Fire!!. Although Johnson continued to write, and her work appeared in anthologies, she never published original poetry again. Read more

This poem is in the public domain.

"....So here we still are, in the spring of 2022, perhaps a bit less alone. But now, as the pandemic begins to recede in at least parts of the world, something equally alarming has taken its place..."

“Putin makes Covid look good,” said a friend – a sentiment no doubt shared by many.....Read more


I shall gather myself into myself again,
I shall take my scattered selves and make them one,
Fusing them into a polished crystal ball
Where I can see the moon and the flashing sun.

I shall sit like a sibyl, hour after hour intent,
Watching the future come and the present go,
And the little shifting pictures of people rushing
In restless self-importance to and fro.

Sara Teasdale (1884 – 1933) was an American lyric poet. She was born Sarah Trevor Teasdale in St. Louis, Missouri, and used the name Sara Teasdale Filsinger after her marriage in 1914. She is the author of many poetry collections. In 1918 she was awarded both the Columbia Poetry Prize (now the Pulitzer) and the Poetry Society of America Prize for her "Love Songs" collection published in 1917 .... Read more

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