“36 Rules for Writers” by Umberto Eco
36 Rules for Writers 1. Avoid alliterations, even if they’re manna for morons. 2. Don’t contribute to the killing of the subjunctive mode, I suggest that the writer use it when necessary. 3. Avoid clichés:… Continue Reading
“An ancient pond!” by Matsuo Basho
An ancient pond! An ancient pond!With a sound from the waterOf the frog as it plunges in. . Matsuo Basho, 1643-1694 This poem is in the public domain. Photo by Martino Pietropoli on Unsplash Continue Reading
“Summer Stars” by Carl Sandburg
Summer Stars Bend low again, night of summer stars.So near you are, sky of summer stars, So near, a long-arm man can pick off stars, Pick off what he wants in the sky bowl, So… Continue Reading
“20 Rules for Writers” by Stephen King
20 Rules for Writers 1. First write for yourself, and then worry about the audience. “When you write a story, you’re telling yourself the story. When you rewrite, your main job is taking out all… Continue Reading
“Ode to the Tomato” by Pablo Neruda
Ode to the Tomato The roadway is full of tomatoes, midday, summer, the light splits itself in two halves of tomato, runs down the roads as juice. In December it goes wild the tomato, invades… Continue Reading
“A Kind of Meadow” by Carl Phillips
A Kind of Meadow —shoredby trees at its far ending,as is the way in moral tales: whether trees as trees actually, for their shadow and what inside of it hides, threatens, calls to;or as ever-wavering… Continue Reading
“Krishna 3:29” by Meena Alexander
Krishna 3:29 In a crumpled shirt (so casual for a god) Bow tucked loosely under an arm still jittery from battle He balanced himself on a flat boat painted black. Each wave as I kneel… Continue Reading
“My Father. A Tree.” by Tina Chang
My Father. A Tree. Today, longing for my father, I saw a solitary bleached owl skim the dark grasses. It swept so low to the ground it might have buried itself. I did not know… Continue Reading
“Poetry” by Carlos Drummond de Andrade
Poetry I spent one hour thinking of a verse my pen does not want to write. Yet, it is here inside restless, alive. It is here inside and does not wish to get out. But… Continue Reading
“Too Many Names” by Pablo Neruda
Too Many Names Monday entangles itself with Tuesday and the week with the year: time cannot be severed with your weary shears, and all the names of the day the water of night clears. No… Continue Reading