Variations On A Theme By William Carlos Williams by Kenneth Koch 1 I chopped down the house that you had been saving to live in next summer. I am sorry, but it was morning, and I had nothing to do and its wooden beams were so inviting. 2 We laughed...
A Perfect Mess By Mary Karr For David Freedman I read somewhere that if pedestrians didn’t break traffic laws to cross Times Square whenever and by whatever means possible, the whole city would stop, it would stop. Cars would back up to Rhode...
This morning Father Currie opened his homily with an anecdote. A boy asked him what he does when he’s not being a priest. And Father replied that he’s always a priest. (And told the boy what he does for recreation, which was the real...
Recently Jen Miller has been pondering prayer and calligraphy and the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd. In Light to Our Prayer she writes: The past few years I’ve used my calligraphy for my sons’ atrium. I’m creating something that will be used in...
Paul Muldoon is a poet I probably wouldn’t have read if he weren’t Irish and even his Irishness wouldn’t have been quite enough reason to make me keep reading after the first couple of poems. They just didn’t grab me at all...
I’m not actually sure that I like this poem very much, but the first line haunts me at this time of year. The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens One must have a mind of winter To regard the frost and the boughs Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;...
It’s hard to resist a poem that directly references works of art. The hardest part was trying to decide which art to use. though not so hard after all. I was tempted to choose a still life, but I do love Vermeer. Dutch Interiors by Jane Kenyon...
The poem is one of my long time favorites. From high school? College? My initial acquaintance is lost in the mists of time. But I love it. The painting, Meeting on the Turret Stairs, is called “Ireland’s Favorite Painting” by the...
Snow Day by Billy Collins Today we woke up to a revolution of snow, its white flag waving over everything, the landscape vanished, not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness, and beyond these windows the government buildings smothered, schools...
February: Thinking of Flowers by Jane Kenyon Now wind torments the field, turning the white surface back on itself, back and back on itself, like an animal licking a wound. Nothing but white–the air, the light; only one brown milkweed pod...
