Every Day Poems - A Poem A Day

Sappho by Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) was an American lyrical poet associated with the early 20th century’s “poetry renaissance” in America.

Sappho

by Sara Teasdale

The twilight’s inner flame grows blue and deep,
And in my Lesbos, over leagues of sea,
The temples glimmer moonwise in the trees.
Twilight has veiled the little flower face
Here on my heart, but still the night is kind
And leaves her warm sweet weight against my breast.
Am I that Sappho who would run at dusk
Along the surges creeping up the shore
When tides came in to ease the hungry beach,
And running, running, till the night was black,
Would fall forespent upon the chilly sand
And quiver with the winds from off the sea?
Ah, quietly the shingle waits the tides
Whose waves are stinging kisses, but to me
Love brought no peace, nor darkness any rest.
I crept and touched the foam with fevered hands
And cried to Love, from whom the sea is sweet,
From whom the sea is bitterer than death.
Ah, Aphrodite, if I sing no more
To thee, God’s daughter, powerful as God,
It is that thou hast made my life too sweet
To hold the added sweetness of a song.
There is a quiet at the heart of love,
And I have pierced the pain and come to peace.
I hold my peace, my Cleis, on my heart;
And softer than a little wild bird’s wing
Are kisses that she pours upon my mouth.
Ah, never any more when spring like fire
Will flicker in the newly opened leaves,
Shall I steal forth to seek for solitude
Beyond the lure of light Alcaeus’ lyre,
Beyond the sob that stilled Erinna’s voice.
Ah, never with a throat that aches with song,
Beneath the white uncaring sky of spring,
Shall I go forth to hide awhile from Love
The quiver and the crying of my heart.
Still I remember how I strove to flee
The love-note of the birds, and bowed my head
To hurry faster, but upon the ground
I saw two winged shadows side by side,
And all the world’s spring passion stifled me.
Ah, Love, there is no fleeing from thy might,
No lonely place where thou hast never trod,
No desert thou hast left uncarpeted
With flowers that spring beneath thy perfect feet.
In many guises didst thou come to me;
I saw thee by the maidens while they danced,
Phaon allured me with a look of thine,
In Anactoria I knew thy grace,
I looked at Cercolas and saw thine eyes;
But never wholly, soul and body mine,
Didst thou bid any love me as I loved.
Now I have found the peace that fled from me;
Close, close, against my heart I hold my world.
Ah, Love that made my life a lyric cry,
Ah, Love that tuned my lips to lyres of thine,
I taught the world thy music, now alone
I sing for one who falls asleep to hear.

###

Sara Teasdale (1884-1933) was an American lyrical poet associated with the early 20th century’s “poetry renaissance” in America. Teasdale was born in St. Louis, Missouri and began writing poetry as a child. She published her first poetry collection, Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems, in 1907. Teasdale went on to publish several more collections including Helen of Troy and Other Poems (1911), Rivers to the Sea (1915), and Flame and Shadow (1920). The poem “There Will Come Soft Rains” from her 1920 collection is one of her most famous works. Teasdale’s poetry was known for its lyrical style, romantic themes, and focus on nature and love. She won the first Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1918 for her 1917 collection Love Songs. Plagued by poor health for much of her life, Teasdale committed suicide in 1933 at age 48. Her lyrical and romantic poems left a legacy and influenced later poets.

Wisdom by Sara Teasdale

Wisdom

by Sara Teasdale

It was a night of early spring,
The winter-sleep was scarcely broken;
Around us shadows and the wind
Listened for what was never spoken.
Though half a score of years are gone,
Spring comes as sharply now as then—
But if we had it all to do
It would be done the same again.
It was a spring that never came;
But we have lived enough to know
That what we never have, remains;
It is the things we have that go.

###

Autumn by Rainer Maria Rilke

AUTUMN

by Rainer Maria Rilke

The leaves fall, fall as from far,
Like distant gardens withered in the heavens;
They fall with slow and lingering descent.

And in the nights the heavy Earth, too, falls
From out the stars into the Solitude.

Thus all doth fall. This hand of mine must fall
And lo! the other one:—it is the law.
But there is One who holds this falling
Infinitely softly in His hands.

###

Rainer Maria Rilke was an influential Bohemian-Austrian poet and one of the most important German-language writers of the 20th century. He was born René Karl Wilhelm Johann Josef Maria Rilke in 1875 in Prague, which was then part of Bohemia and part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. As a poet, Rilke is associated with both Symbolism and Modernism. His major collections of lyrical poetry include Duino Elegies, Sonnets to Orpheus, Letters to a Young Poet, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge, and The Book of Hours. Major themes in his work deal with existentialism, mysticism, solitude, and the role and calling of the poet. He corresponded with and was influenced by contemporaries like Lou Andreas-Salomé, Paul Cézanne, Marina Tsvetaeva and Boris Pasternak. He also drew inspiration from psychoanalysis and Rodin’s sculpture. While not well-known beyond German readers during his lifetime, Rilke’s work was rediscovered and celebrated posthumously. He is now considered one of the most lyrical poets writing in German and his poetry has been widely translated and continues to profoundly influence poets today. Rilke died in 1926 at the age of 51 in Valmont, Switzerland.

Friendship by Henry David Thoreau

Friendship

by Henry David Thoreau

‘Friends, Romans, Countrymen, and Lovers.’
Let such pure hate still underprop
Our love, that we may be
Each other’s conscience,
And have our sympathy
Mainly from thence.

We’ll one another treat like gods,
And all the faith we have
In virtue and in truth, bestow
On either, and suspicion leave
To gods below.

Two solitary stars—
Unmeasured systems far
Between us roll;
But by our conscious light we are
Determined to one pole.

What need confound the sphere?—
Love can afford to wait;
For it no hour’s too late
That witnesseth one duty’s end,
Or to another doth beginning lend.

It will subserve no use,
More than the tints of flowers;
Only the independent guest
Frequents its bowers,
Inherits its bequest.

No speech, though kind, has it;
But kinder silence doles
Unto its mates;
By night consoles,
By day congratulates.

What saith the tongue to tongue?
What heareth ear of ear?
By the decrees of fate
From year to year,
Does it communicate.

Pathless the gulf of feeling yawns;
No trivial bridge of words,
Or arch of boldest span,
Can leap the moat that girds
The sincere man.

No show of bolts and bars
Can keep the foeman out,
Or ’scape his secret mine,
Who entered with the doubt
That drew the line.

No warder at the gate
Can let the friendly in;
But, like the sun, o’er all
He will the castle win,
And shine along the wall.

There’s nothing in the world I know
That can escape from love,
For every depth it goes below,
And every height above.

It waits, as waits the sky
Until the clouds go by,
Yet shines serenely on
With an eternal day,
Alike when they are gone,
And when they stay.

Implacable is Love,—
Foes may be bought or teased
From their hostile intent,
But he goes unappeased

###

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) was an American essayist, poet, philosopher, abolitionist, naturalist, tax resister, development critic, surveyor, historian, and leading transcendentalist. He is best known for his book Walden, a reflection upon simple living in natural surroundings, and his essay Civil Disobedience, an argument for disobedience to an unjust state.

Thoreau was born in Concord, Massachusetts and graduated from Harvard University. He lived for two years, two months, and two days in a self-built cabin on Walden Pond, near Concord, and wrote his most famous work Walden during his time there. Thoreau was inspired by transcendentalism and emphasized the importance of nature and living simply. His writings on civil disobedience and protest against government policy would later influence many influential figures, including Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King Jr.

Although not initially popular, Thoreau’s works became influential and he is now regarded as one of the foremost American writers, both for the modern clarity of his prose style and the prescience of his views on nature and politics. Thoreau’s friend Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote of him “The scale on which his studies proceeded was so large as to require longevity, and a sort of eagle vision to survey the field … He was a protestant à l’outrance, and few lives contain so many renunciations.”

The Boy Left In The Attic by Kushal Poddar

Kushal Poddar is the of ‘Postmarked Quarantine’ has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works

The Boy Left In The Attic

by Kushal Poddar

Some nights we don’t hear
the boy in the attic, his feet
and his imaginary obstacle race

because we receive the call
from our son in the other land
where sun’s already varnished
the planks and the laths.

Perhaps we speak too loud
for a short conversation.
Perhaps the child soul in the attic
is the glee our son he left behind.

###

Kushal Poddar is the of ‘Postmarked Quarantine’ has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe.

Twitter- https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

The Lover and the Moon by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906) was an influential African American poet, novelist, and playwright during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

The Lover and the Moon

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

A lover whom duty called over the wave,
With himself communed: “Will my love be true
If left to herself? Had I better not sue
Some friend to watch over her, good and grave?
But my friend might fail in my need,” he said,
“And I return to find love dead.
Since friendships fade like the flow’rs of June,
I will leave her in charge of the stable moon.”
Then he said to the moon: “O dear old moon,
Who for years and years from thy thrown above
Hast nurtured and guarded young lovers and love,
My heart has but come to its waiting June,
And the promise time of the budding vine;
Oh, guard thee well this love of mine.”
And he harked him then while all was still,
And the pale moon answered and said, “I will.”
And he sailed in his ship o’er many seas,
And he wandered wide o’er strange far strands:
In isles of the south and in Orient lands,
Where pestilence lurks in the breath of the breeze.
But his star was high, so he braved the main,
And sailed him blithely home again;
And with joy he bended his footsteps soon
To learn of his love from the matron moon.
She sat as of yore, in her olden place,
Serene as death, in her silver chair.
A white rose gleamed in her whiter hair,
And the tint of a blush was on her face.
At sight of the youth she sadly bowed
And hid her face ‘neath a gracious cloud.
She faltered faint on the night’s dim marge,
But “How,” spoke the youth, “have you kept your charge?”
The moon was sad at a trust ill-kept;
The blush went out in her blanching cheek,
And her voice was timid and low and weak,
As she made her plea and sighed and wept.
“Oh, another prayed and another plead,
And I could n’t resist,” she answering said;
“But love still grows in the hearts of men:
Go forth, dear youth, and love again.”
But he turned him away from her proffered grace.
“Thou art false, O moon, as the hearts of men,
I will not, will not love again.”
And he turned sheer ’round with a soul-sick face
To the sea, and cried: “Sea, curse the moon,
Who makes her vows and forgets so soon.”
And the awful sea with anger stirred,
And his breast heaved hard as he lay and heard.
And ever the moon wept down in rain,
And ever her sighs rose high in wind;
But the earth and sea were deaf and blind,
And she wept and sighed her griefs in vain.
And ever at night, when the storm is fierce,
The cries of a wraith through the thunder pierce;
And the waves strain their awful hands on high
To tear the false moon from the sky.

###

Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906) was an influential African American poet, novelist, and playwright during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Dunbar was born in Dayton, Ohio to parents who had been slaves. His mother encouraged his love of literature from a young age. Though self-educated beyond high school, Dunbar wrote prolifically and gained national recognition with his second poetry collection, Majors and Minors, in 1895. This contained his famous poem “We Wear the Mask.”

Dunbar was acclaimed for his mastery of both dialect poems capturing the voices of African Americans in the rural South as well as traditional English poetry forms. He published several poetry collections and wrote novels, short stories, librettos, songs and plays. His first novel The Uncalled was published in 1898. Despite bouts of illness, Dunbar had a prolific writing career, publishing 12 books of poetry, 4 books of short stories, 5 novels and a play before his untimely death from tuberculosis at age 33. Though his career was short, Dunbar’s impact on American literature was significant. He brought African American perspectives and voices to mainstream 19th century literary circles and served as an inspiration for future generations of Black writers.

November by Helen Hunt Jackson

Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885) was an American poet and activist who championed Native American rights

November

by Helen Hunt Jackson

This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer’s voice come bearing summer’s gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning’s rays
Will idly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet’s day of pain?

###

Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885) was an American poet and activist who championed Native American rights. Born Helen Fiske in Massachusetts, she published poetry under the name “H.H.” starting in the 1860s. Her nature-inspired verses gained popularity, especially the collection “Verses” (1870).

After researching injustices against Native Americans, Jackson became dedicated to their cause. Her 1881 nonfiction exposé “A Century of Dishonor” condemned America’s treatment of indigenous people. Her novel “Ramona” (1884), a tragic romance about a Native American woman, was a bestseller that humanized Native Americans and their struggles.

Through writing and lobbying Congress, Jackson brought greater attention to Native American issues in the 19th century fight for indigenous rights. Though she passed away at age 54, Jackson left a strong legacy as both a creative talent and an activist for Native American justice and citizenship.

Election Day, November, 1884

Walt Whitman (1819-1892) was one of the most influential and innovative poets of the 19th century. He was born in Long Island, New York

Election Day, November, 1884

Walt Whitman

If I should need to name, O Western World, your powerfulest scene and show,
’Twould not be you, Niagara—nor you, ye limitless prairies—nor
your huge rifts of canyons, Colorado,
Nor you, Yosemite—nor Yellowstone, with all its spasmic
geyser-loops ascending to the skies, appearing and disappearing,
Nor Oregon’s white cones—nor Huron’s belt of mighty lakes—nor
Mississippi’s stream:
—This seething hemisphere’s humanity, as now, I’d name—the still
small voice vibrating—America’s choosing day,
(The heart of it not in the chosen—the act itself the main, the
quadriennial choosing,)
The stretch of North and South arous’d—sea-board and inland—
Texas to Maine—the Prairie States—Vermont, Virginia, California,
The final ballot-shower from East to West—the paradox and conflict,
The countless snow-flakes falling—(a swordless conflict,
Yet more than all Rome’s wars of old, or modern Napoleon’s:) the
peaceful choice of all,
Or good or ill humanity—welcoming the darker odds, the dross:
—Foams and ferments the wine? it serves to purify—while the heart
pants, life glows:
These stormy gusts and winds waft precious ships,
Swell’d Washington’s, Jefferson’s, Lincoln’s sails.

###

Walt Whitman (1819-1892) was one of the most influential and innovative poets of the 19th century. He was born in Long Island, New York and had a limited formal education. As a young man he worked as a printer’s apprentice and schoolteacher before turning to journalism and creative writing.

In 1855, Whitman self-published his collection of poems Leaves of Grass, which he would revise and expand throughout his life. The poems were written in free verse without traditional rhyme or meter, which was highly experimental at the time. Leaves of Grass contained Whitman’s most famous poem, “Song of Myself,” which celebrates the self, the union of body and soul, and the universal humanity that connects all people.

Whitman led a nomadic lifestyle, working odd jobs across America while continuously revising and expanding Leaves of Grass. His poetry celebrated democracy, individualism, and the beauty of nature and the human body. He became known as America’s “poet of democracy.” Though controversial in his lifetime for his innovative style and treatment of taboo subjects like sexuality, Whitman is now considered one of America’s most influential poets. Major works include Leaves of Grass, “Song of Myself,” “I Sing the Body Electric,” and poems about the Civil War and Lincoln such as “O Captain! My Captain!” Whitman died in Camden, New Jersey at age 72. His poetry has left a lasting impact on world literature.

NOVEMBER (A SONNET) by William Cullen Bryant

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) was an American romantic poet, journalist, and influential editor. Born in Massachusetts,

NOVEMBER (A SONNET)

by William Cullen Bryant

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!
One mellow smile through the soft vapoury air,
Ere, o’er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,
Or snows are sifted o’er the meadows bare.
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,
And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,
And the blue gentian flower, that, in the breeze,
Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee
Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way,
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,
And man delight to linger in thy ray.
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air.

###

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) was an American romantic poet, journalist, and influential editor. Born in Massachusetts, Bryant wrote some of the most significant poetry in early 19th century America, helping drive the emergence of a truly American literary voice.

Bryant’s most famous poem, “Thanatopsis”, was published when he was just 17 years old. This meditative work on death established him as America’s leading poet. Other notable poems include “To a Waterfowl”, “The Ages”, and “The Prairies”. His poetry often explored nature as a metaphor for spirituality.

In 1825, Bryant became editor of the New York Evening Post, a position he held for almost 50 years. He shaped the paper into an influential platform for anti-slavery and social reform. His commitment to free speech, ethics, and human rights made him an important public figure.

Bryant helped promote and define American literary independence from Europe. He brought Romantic sensibilities to distinctly American topics, settings and images. Along with his contemporary poets like Ralph Waldo Emerson, Bryant gave the young nation a unique and thoughtful poetic voice. Though underappreciated today, his poetry captured the American imagination during the 19th century.

To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence

James Elroy Flecker (1884-1915) was an English poet, dramatist, and diplomat. Though his literary career was cut short by his premature death from tuberculosis

To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence

by James Elroy Flecker

I who am dead a thousand years,
And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,
Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build consummate palaces
Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,
And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind
That falls at eve our fancies blow,
And old Moeonides the blind
Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you. You will understand.

###

James Elroy Flecker (1884-1915) was an English poet, dramatist, and diplomat. Though his literary career was cut short by his premature death from tuberculosis at age 30, Flecker left behind a memorable body of poetic works.

The In-Conspicuous by Peter Magliocco

Peter Magliocco writes from Las Vegas, Nevada, where for years he’s been active in the small presses as editor, writer, poet, and artist.

The In-Conspicuous

by Peter Magliocco

is where the branch disappears
sighing over u
Crackling just before false dawn
the prophet tweets from
In portents of dementia
Wringing out the masses
from hollow sleep
Chilling the water till
Dead flowers keep
mad travelers trampling
with scooters of exhaust fallowing

we salute, simmering.
The wait for no one
in light fading:
Drums come rolling
Beaten in vast deafness
beaten still,

The In-conspicuous walk into
a room of your own,
declaring war on little beings
speaking just one language –
bleating only one song,
believing in only one god
inviting you to Hop hip-texting

& preening over your soiling spirits’
cacophonous ranting, these
Pixel-buds in our silicon valley

With lowlife dwindle –
& only the invisible fallen leaves
In lime burning untimely bush
will reach false heaven

###

Peter Magliocco writes from Las Vegas, Nevada, where for years he’s been active in the small presses as editor, writer, poet, and artist. Nominated several times for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net, he has recent poetry at Knot, Fevers of the Mind, Trouvaille Review, Impspired, and elsewhere. His recent poetry book is Particle Acceleration on Judgement Day (Impspired).

The Sphinx by Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Sphinx

by Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Sphinx is drowsy,
Her wings are furled:
Her ear is heavy,
She broods on the world.
“Who’ll tell me my secret,
The ages have kept?—
I awaited the seer
While they slumbered and slept:—

“The fate of the man-child,
The meaning of man;
Known fruit of the unknown;
Daedalian plan;
Out of sleeping a waking,
Out of waking a sleep;
Life death overtaking;
Deep underneath deep?

“Erect as a sunbeam,
Upspringeth the palm;
The elephant browses,
Undaunted and calm;
In beautiful motion
The thrush plies his wings;
Kind leaves of his covert,
Your silence he sings.

“The waves, unashamèd,
In difference sweet,
Play glad with the breezes,
Old playfellows meet;
The journeying atoms,
Primordial wholes,
Firmly draw, firmly drive,
By their animate poles.

“Sea, earth, air, sound, silence.
Plant, quadruped, bird,
By one music enchanted,
One deity stirred,—
Each the other adorning,
Accompany still;
Night veileth the morning,
The vapor the hill.

“The babe by its mother
Lies bathèd in joy;
Glide its hours uncounted,—
The sun is its toy;
Shines the peace of all being,
Without cloud, in its eyes;
And the sum of the world
In soft miniature lies.

“But man crouches and blushes,
Absconds and conceals;
He creepeth and peepeth,
He palters and steals;
Infirm, melancholy,
Jealous glancing around,
An oaf, an accomplice,
He poisons the ground.

“Out spoke the great mother,
Beholding his fear;—
At the sound of her accents
Cold shuddered the sphere:—
‘Who has drugged my boy’s cup?
Who has mixed my boy’s bread?
Who, with sadness and madness,
Has turned my child’s head?'”

I heard a poet answer
Aloud and cheerfully,
‘Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges
Are pleasant songs to me.
Deep love lieth under
These pictures of time;
They fade in the light of
Their meaning sublime.

“The fiend that man harries
Is love of the Best;
Yawns the pit of the Dragon,
Lit by rays from the Blest.
The Lethe of Nature
Can’t trance him again,
Whose soul sees the perfect,
Which his eyes seek in vain.

“To vision profounder,
Man’s spirit must dive;
His aye-rolling orb
At no goal will arrive;
The heavens that now draw him
With sweetness untold,
Once found,—for new heavens
He spurneth the old.

“Pride ruined the angels,
Their shame them restores;
Lurks the joy that is sweetest
In stings of remorse.
Have I a lover
Who is noble and free?—
I would he were nobler
Than to love me.

“Eterne alternation
Now follows, now flies;
And under pain, pleasure,—
Under pleasure, pain lies.
Love works at the centre,
Heart-heaving alway;
Forth speed the strong pulses
To the borders of day.

“Dull Sphinx, Jove keep thy five wits;
Thy sight is growing blear;
Rue, myrrh and cummin for the Sphinx,
Her muddy eyes to clear!”
The old Sphinx bit her thick lip,—
Said, “Who taught thee me to name?
I am thy spirit, yoke-fellow;
Of thine eye I am eyebeam.

“Thou art the unanswered question;
Couldst see thy proper eye,
Alway it asketh, asketh;
And each answer is a lie.
So take thy quest through nature,
It through thousand natures ply;
Ask on, thou clothed eternity;
Time is the false reply.”

Uprose the merry Sphinx,
And crouched no more in stone;
She melted into purple cloud,
She silvered in the moon;
She spired into a yellow flame;
She flowered in blossoms red;
She flowed into a foaming wave:
She stood Monadnoc’s head.

Thorough a thousand voices
Spoke the universal dame;
“Who telleth one of my meanings
Is master of all I am.”

Summary

The Sphinx, a mythical creature, poses philosophical questions about the mysteries of humanity and the universe that have gone unanswered over the ages. She wonders about the meaning of life, humanity’s purpose, and the secrets of nature. A poet responds optimistically, suggesting that profound love, spiritual vision, and embracing life’s dualities can provide meaning. However, the Sphinx counters that humanity is ignorant and fails to comprehend the deeper truths.

The poet argues that humanity must continuously dive deeper into the unknown, seeking new understanding rather than settling for surface truths. But the Sphinx replies that humanity can never fully grasp the infinite complexity of nature. She represents the eternal mystery at the heart of existence. After this dialogue, the Sphinx transforms into various forms in nature – cloud, moon, flame, blossoms, wave – representing the manifold variety and wisdom of the natural world, with which humanity is intertwined.

In the end, the poem explores humanity’s relationship to nature and the search for meaning through philosophical questioning. The Sphinx symbolizes the unknown, while the poet affirms love, imagination, and ceaseless searching as ways to catch glimpses of meaning. The poem suggests that although we may not find absolute answers, the quest itself brings meaning.

Bio

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) was a renowned American essayist, lecturer, philosopher, and poet who led the transcendentalist movement in the mid-19th century. He was born in Boston, Massachusetts and attended Harvard University where he began his career as a minister before turning to writing and public speaking. Emerson became one of America’s most influential thinkers and writers, pioneering a uniquely American approach to philosophy and literature based on optimism, individualism, and harmony between humanity and nature.

Some of Emerson’s most famous essays include “Self-Reliance,” “The American Scholar,” “Nature,” and “The Poet.” He gave hundreds of popular lectures across the country on a wide range of topics such as intellectual independence, the ethics of politics, and the role of scholars in society. Emerson was associated with other transcendentalists like Henry David Thoreau and Margaret Fuller who shared his belief in the mysticism of nature and individual intuition as a source of spirituality.

In addition to his prolific essays and lectures, Emerson wrote over 1,800 poems characterized by their philosophical idealism and emphasis on moral and ethical principles. He traveled widely throughout Europe and Asia and incorporated ideas from Eastern philosophy into his writings. Emerson’s work had an immense influence on American literature, embodying the energetic optimism and individualism of the young nation. He died in 1882 after a prolific career advocating for human rights, critical thinking, and the betterment of society through self-culture.

The Intersection by Aaron Poochigian

AARON POOCHIGIAN earned a PhD in Classics from the University of Minnesota and an MFA in Poetry from Columbia University.

The Intersection

by Aaron Poochigian

One Wednesday in America at night
someone was in a pickup running, running
from wrong back there where nothing worked out right:
the hopes that bombed, the love that turned to shunning,
jail, juvie and a neonatal ward.

Sucked up into injustice, he ignored
all that his wide-eyed high beams brought to light.
Quail flickered, and abrupt mile markers grew
greener, then swooped into the past abaft.
A plastic bag lurched like a twisted kite.
A farm with barn and slaughterhouse, a raft
of lit efficiency, came passing through.
But these phantasmagoric waifs and ghostly
surprises surfaced harum-scarum. Mostly
the edgeline, white and wanting to be true,
drunkenly went about the brink it drew,
and center strips stitched contours as they dashed.

Such wonders failed to fetch our absentee.
Soon, though, a far-off nodding body flashed
a telltale yellow, a portentous code
that yanked him outward from his beef with life.
The omen spoke:

there was another road
approaching, an oblique trajectory
athwart the one that drove him. It would run,
with time, as main street through some center rife
with bars and diners, with the interplay
of known dead-ends and new things to be done.
Sure, there’d be more flush bosses grudging pay,
more bible-thumpers damning real fun,
more girls who won’t give you the time of day,
but it might be a change.

There was no one
to yield to, but he stopped there anyway.

###

AARON POOCHIGIAN earned a PhD in Classics from the University of Minnesota and an MFA in Poetry from Columbia University. His latest poetry collection, American Divine, the winner of the Richard Wilbur Award, came out in 2021. He has published numerous translations with Penguin Classics and W.W. Norton. His work has appeared in such publications as Best American Poetry, The Paris Review and POETRY.

The Jack-O’-Lantern By Madison Julius Cawein

The Jack-O’-Lantern

By Madison Julius Cawein

Last night it was Hallowe’en.
Darkest night I’ve ever seen.
And the boy next door, I thought,
Would be glad to know of this
Jack-o’-lantern father brought
Home from Indianapolis.
And he was glad. Borrowed it.
Put a candle in and lit;
Hid among the weeds out there
In the side lot near the street.
I could see it, eyes aglare,
Mouth and nose red slits of heat.
My! but it looked scary! He
Perched an old hat on it, see?
Like some hat a scarecrow has,
Battered, tattered all around;
And he fanned long arms of grass
Up and down above the ground.
First an Irish woman, shawled,
With a basket, saw it; bawled
For her Saints and wept and cried,
“Is it you, Pat? Och! I knew
He would git you whin you died!
‘Faith! there’s little change in you!”
Then the candle sputtered, flared,
And went out; and on she fared,
Muttering to herself. When lit,
No one came for longest while.
Then a man passed; looked at it;
On his face a knowing smile.
Then it scared a colored girl
Into fits. She gave a whirl
And a scream and ran and ran
Thought Old Nick had hold her skin;
And she ran into a man,
P’liceman, and he run her in.
But what pleased me most was that
It made one boy lose his hat;
A big fool who thinks he’s smart,
Brags about the boys he beat:
Knew he’d run right from the start:
Biggest coward on the street.
Then a crowd of girls and boys
Gathered with a lot of noise.
When they saw the lantern, well!
They just took a hand: they thought
That they had him when he fell;
But he turned on them and fought.
He just took that lantern’s stick,
Laid about him hard and quick,
And they yelled and ran away.
Then he brought me all he had
Of my lantern. And, I say,
Could have cried I was so mad.

###

Summary

The speaker describes the events of Halloween night after the speaker’s father brought home a jack-o-lantern. The boy next door borrowed the jack-o-lantern, lit a candle inside, and hid it in the weeds to scare people. It scared several passersby, including an old woman who thought it was someone she knew, a girl who had a fit, and a policeman who took the girl in. The jack-o-lantern also scared a boastful boy into losing his hat and running away. Finally, a crowd of kids attacked the jack-o-lantern, but the boy who borrowed it fought them off. He then returned what was left of the smashed pumpkin to the speaker, who was very upset about the destruction of the jack-o-lantern. The poem depicts the jack-o-lantern scaring people and leading to mischief on Halloween night.

Biography

Madison Julius Cawein was an American poet born in 1865 in Louisville, Kentucky. He was associated with the “Kentucky School” of writers and was known for his poetry featuring mystical themes of nature and mythology. Some of his notable published works include Blooms of the Berry (1898), Kentucky Poems (1900), Mystery and Romance (1901), and Myth and Romance (1908).

Cawein’s style was heavily influenced by the English Romantic poets like Keats and Shelley, with much of his poetry conveying a dreamy, romantic, and imaginative tone. He led a largely reclusive life, suffering from depression and alcoholism in his later years. Cawein died by suicide in 1914 at the age of 49.

At the peak of his career, Cawein was compared to renowned Romantic poets like Keats and Shelley. While mostly forgotten today, he was considered an influential regional American poet at the turn of the 20th century. His poem “The Vampire” is one example of his works dealing with supernatural subjects and themes. Though he died in obscurity, Cawein contributed a substantial body of mystical, nature-inspired poetry during his lifetime.

Pirates by Alfred Noyes

Pirates
by Alfred Noyes

Come to me, you with the laughing face, in the light as I lie
Dreaming of days that are dead and of joys gone by;
Come to me, comrade, come through the slow-dropping rain,
Come from your grave in the darkness and let us be pirates again.

Let us be boys together to-night, and pretend as of old
We are pirates at rest in a cave among huge heaps of gold,
Red Spanish doubloons and great pieces of eight, and muskets and swords,
And a smoky red camp-fire to glint, you know how, on our ill-gotten hoards.

The old cave in the fir-wood that slopes down the hills to the sea
Still is haunted, perhaps, by young pirates as wicked as we:
Though the fir with the magpie’s big mud-plastered nest used to hide it so well,
And the boys in the gang had to swear that they never would tell.

Ah, that tree; I have sat in its boughs and looked seaward for hours.
I remember the creak of its branches, the scent of the flowers
That climbed round the mouth of the cave. It is odd I recall
Those little things best, that I scarcely took heed of at all.

I remember how brightly the brass on the butt of my spy-glass gleamed
As I climbed through the purple heather and thyme to our eyrie and dreamed;
I remember the smooth glossy sun-burn that darkened our faces and hands
As we gazed at the merchantmen sailing away to those wonderful lands.

I remember the long, slow sigh of the sea as we raced in the sun,
To dry ourselves after our swimming; and how we would run
With a cry and a crash through the foam as it creamed on the shore,
Then back to bask in the warm dry gold of the sand once more.

Come to me, you with the laughing face, in the gloom as I lie
Dreaming of days that are dead and of joys gone by;
Let us be boys together to-night and pretend as of old
We are pirates at rest in a cave among great heaps of gold.

Come; you shall be chief. We’ll not quarrel, the time flies so fast.
There are ships to be grappled, there’s blood to be shed, ere our playtime be past.
No; perhaps we will quarrel, just once, or it scarcely will seem
So like the old days that have flown from us both like a dream.

Still; you shall be chief in the end; and then we’ll go home
To the hearth and the tea and the books that we loved: ah, but come,
Come to me, come through the night and the slow-dropping rain;
Come, old friend, come thro’ the darkness and let us be playmates again.

###

Alfred Noyes was an English poet, short story writer and playwright who was born in 1880 in Staffordshire, England. Noyes was educated at Exeter College, Oxford, where he excelled in classics and was elected president of the Oxford Union. After graduating, he devoted himself to writing and published his first collection of poems, The Loom of Years, in 1902. Noyes went on to publish several other volumes of verse including Forty Singing Seamen (1907), The Flower of Old Japan (1908), and Tales of the Mermaid Tavern (1913). He is best known for his lyrical poem “The Highwayman” which was published in 1906 in Blackwood’s Magazine. The vivid ballad tells the story of an 18th century highwayman who is in love with an innkeeper’s daughter. Noyes also wrote historical fiction and non-fiction prose on subjects such as witchcraft and World War I. His dramas in blank verse include Sherwood, Robin Hood and His Merrie Men, The Torch-Bearers and Lancelot. Though his popularity as a poet waned in later years, during his lifetime Noyes was regarded as a leading poet of his generation for his mastery of traditional verse forms and lyricism. He continued writing into his 80s and died in 1958 at the age of 77.