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Edna St. Vincent Millay

You see, I am a poet, and not quite right in the head, darling. It’s only that. —  in a letter to her mother as to why she must live alone. Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay by Nancy Milford. (Random House Trade Paperbacks; Reprint edition September 10, 2002) Advertisements

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Richard Jackson

                                                                                Everything we see is a metaphor for what we don’t see. Everything we do is a metaphor for what we don’t do. If you don’t finish this poem it won’t exist. Neither will I. Where do we come from when we come to ourselves? There’s a common thread that hasn’t been established yet. —Richard… Continue reading Richard Jackson

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Contemporary · Online Anthology · Online Magazine · Periodical · Poetry

M.J. Iuppa

What do they call the sadness of a solitary sleep?                                                      −−− Pablo Neruda There is a certain remoteness to the puddle.  Its brackish water ripples in goose bumps, concealing mud’s sole contemplation that lies just below the surface, dreaming of your misstep . . . — M.J. Iuppa, “Mud,” Poetry Pacific Tuesday, 5 November… Continue reading M.J. Iuppa

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