The Academy of American Poets is the largest membership-based nonprofit organization fostering an appreciation for contemporary poetry and supporting American poets. For over three generations, the Academy has connected millions of people to great poetry through programs such as National Poetry Month, the largest literary celebration in the world; Poets.org, the Academy’s popular website; American Poets, a biannual literary journal; and an annual series of poetry readings and special events. Since its founding, the Academy has awarded more money to poets than any other organization.
Some day, when trees have shed their leaves And against the morning’s white The shivering birds beneath the eaves Have sheltered for the night, We’ll turn our faces southward, love, Toward the summer isle Where bamboos spire to shafted grove And wide-mouthed
Box cars run by a mile long. And I wonder what they say to each other When they stop a mile long on a sidetrack. Maybe their chatter goes: I came from Fargo with a load of wheat up to the danger line. I came from Omaha with a load of shorthorns and they splintered my boards.
we could send you out there to join the cackle squad, but hey, that highly accomplished, thinly regarded equestrian—well there was no way he was going to join the others’ field trip. Wouldn’t put his head on the table. But here’s the thing:
I’m careful where I step. Water ripples greenish blue against hot sand; pebbles mixed with quartz grains and pine needles, sharp amid the duff, blown down from the upper stories of the sugar pines clumped along the beach. Kids falling off paddle boards into the cold lake, voices
Squint a little, and that’s my husband in the photograph, the sailor on the left— the one wearing a rose composed of ink and the Little Bo Peep who stands before a tiny setting sun and the blur on his forearm which might be a boat— while the sailor on
Cool your heels on the rail of an observation car. Let the engineer open her up for ninety miles an hour. Take in the prairie right and left, rolling land and new hay crops, swaths of new hay laid in the sun. A gray village flecks by and the horses hitched in front of the post-