Goodpoetry

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: George Platt Lynes - This image is available from the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3c01955. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: Song Lovely, dark, and lonely one,  Bare your bosom to the sun,  Do not be afraid of light You who are a child of night.  Open wide your arms to life,  Whirl in the wind of pain and strife,  Face the wall with the dark closed gate,  Beat with bare, brown fists And wait.  This poem is in the public domain. 

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: George Platt Lynes - This image is available from the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3c01955. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: On Quitting How much grit do you think you've got? Can you quit a thing that you like a lot? You may talk of pluck; it's an easy word, And where'er you go it is often heard; But can you tell to a jot or guess Just how much courage you now possess? You may stand to trouble and keep your grin, But have you tackled self-discipline? Have you ever issued co

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: George Platt Lynes - This image is available from the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3c01955. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: A Jelly Fish Visible, invisible,A fluctuating charm,An amber-colored amethystInhabits it; your armApproaches, andIt opens andIt closes;You have meantTo catch it,And it shrivels;You abandonYour intent—It opens, and itCloses and youReach for it—The blueSurrounding itGrows cloudy, andIt floats awayFrom you.

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: From the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3a40394. .---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: A Hymn to the Evening Soon as the sun forsook the eastern mainThe pealing thunder shook the heav'nly plain;Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr's wing,Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,And through the air their mingled music floats.Through all the heav'ns what beauteous dies are spread!But the west glories in the deepest red:So may our br

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: From the United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs division under the digital ID cph.3a40394. .---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: A Hymn to the Morning ATTEND my lays, ye ever honour'd nine,Assist my labours, and my strains refine;In smoothest numbers pour the notes along,For bright Aurora now demands my song.Aurora hail, and all the thousand dies,Which deck thy progress through the vaulted skies:The morn awakes, and wide extends her rays,On ev'ry leaf the gentle zephyr plays;Harmonious lays the feather'd race resume,Dart

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Edna St. Vincent Millay, photographed by Carl Van Vechten, 1933---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: And if I loved you Wednesday,   Well, what is that to you?I do not love you Thursday—   So much is true. And why you come complaining   Is more than I can see.I loved you Wednesday,—yes—but what   Is that to me?

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Edna St. Vincent Millay in Mamaroneck, NY, 1914, by Arnold Genthe.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: Travel The railroad track is miles away,     And the day is loud with voices speaking, Yet there isn't a train goes by all day     But I hear its whistle shrieking. All night there isn't a train goes by,     Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, But I see its cinders red on the sky,     And hear its engine steaming. My heart is warm with the friends I make,     And better friends I'll not be knowing; Yet there isn't a train I wo

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Edna St. Vincent Millay passport photograph---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: I'll keep a little tavern     Below the high hill's crest,  Wherein all grey-eyed people     May set them down and rest. There shall be plates a-plenty,     And mugs to melt the chill  Of all the grey-eyed people     Who happen up the hill. There sound will sleep the traveller,     And dream his journey's end,  But I will rouse at midnight     The falling fire to tend. Aye, 'tis a curious fancy—     But all the good I know  Was taught me out of two grey eyes  

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Edna St. Vincent Millay in Mamaroneck,[3] NY, 1914, by Arnold Genthe.---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: I will be the gladdest thing      Under the sun!  I will touch a hundred flowers      And not pick one. I will look at cliffs and clouds      With quiet eyes,  Watch the wind bow down the grass,      And the grass rise. And when lights begin to show      Up from the town,  I will mark which must be mine,      And then start down!

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Edna St. Vincent Millay, photographed by Carl Van Vechten, 1933 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: The Unexplorer There was a road ran past our house  Too lovely to explore.  I asked my mother once—she said  That if you followed where it led  It brought you to the milk-man’s door.  (That’s why I have not traveled more.) “The Unexplorer” was published in A Few Figs From Thistles (Harper & Brothers, 1922). This poem is in the public domain.

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Langston Hughes in 1936 by Carl Van Vechten ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: The Negro Speaks of Rivers (To W.E.B. DuBois) I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it. I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went  down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Portrait of American writer and activist Langston Hughes in 1943 (US Library of Congress Archives) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: Kids Who Die This is for the kids who die,  Black and white,  For kids will die certainly.  The old and rich will live on awhile,  As  Always,  Eating blood and gold,  Letting kids die. Kids will die in the swamps of Mississippi  Organizing sharecroppers  Kids will die in the streets of Chicago  Organizing workers  Kids will die in the orange groves of California  Telling others to get together  Whites and F

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Portrait of American writer and activist Langston Hughes in 1943 (US Library of Congress Archives) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: "Harlem" What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up  like a raisin in the sun?  Or fester like a sore—  And then run?  Does it stink like rotten meat?  Or crust and sugar over—  like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags  like a heavy load. Or does it explode?

EPISODE DESCRIPTION Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Portrait of American writer and activist Langston Hughes in 1943 (US Library of Congress Archives) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: "Dreams" Hold fast to dreams  For if dreams die  Life is a broken-winged bird  That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams  For when dreams go  Life is a barren field  Frozen with snow.

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart, and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Langston Hughes in 1936 by Carl Van Vechten ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: American Heartbreak I am the American heartbreak—  Rock on which Freedom  Stumps its toe—  The great mistake  That Jamestown  Made long ago.

"My People" by Langston Hughes Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Photograph Info: Langston Hughes in 1936 by Carl Van Vechten ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Poem: My People The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people.The stars are beautiful,  So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.  Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on Audible, iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, Anchor.Fm, iHeart and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. -------------------------------- When Sue Wears Red When Susanna Jones wears red  Her face is like an ancient cameo  Turned brown by the ages. Come with a blast of trumpets,  Jesus! When Susanna Jones wears red  A queen from some time-dead Egyptian night  Walks once again. Blow trumpets, Jesus! And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red  Burns in my heart a love-fire sharp like pain. Sweet silver trumpets,  Jesus!

Read and more GoodPoetry at www.GoodPoetry.org, and listen on iTunes, Stitcher and GooglePlay Music and connect with us @itsGoodPoetry on Facebook, and Twitter. -------------------------------- "Theme for English B" by Langston Hughes The instructor said, Go home and write  a page tonight.  And let that page come out of you—  Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?  I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.  I went to school there, then Durham, then here  to this college on the hill above Harlem.  I am the only colored student in my class.  The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,  through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,  Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,  the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator  up to my room, sit down, and write this page: It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me  at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what  I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:  hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.  (I hear New York, too.) Me

#GoodPoetry​ presents an excerpt from Phillis Wheatley's poem, entitled "To the Right Honourable William, Earl of Dartmouth". This poem was published in Phillis Wheatley's poetry book, entitled, "Poems on Various Subjects, Religious and Moral" in 1773. This poem is in the public domain. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This colored illustration of Phillis Wheatley is in the public domain. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Here is the text for the excerpt of Phillis Wheatley's poem, entitled, "To the Right Honourable William, Earl of Dartmouth": Should you, my lord, while you peruse my song, Wonder from whence my love of Freedom sprung, Whence flow these wishes for the common good, By feeling hearts alone best understood, I, young in life, by seeming cruel fate Was snatch'd from Afric's fancy'd happy seat: What pangs excruciating must molest, What sorrows labour in my parent's breast? Steel'd was that soul and b

Ars Poetica BY ARCHIBALD MACLEISH A poem should be palpable and mute As a globed fruit, Dumb As old medallions to the thumb, Silent as the sleeve-worn stone Of casement ledges where the moss has grown— A poem should be wordless As the flight of birds. * A poem should be motionless in time As the moon climbs, Leaving, as the moon releases Twig by twig the night-entangled trees, Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves, Memory by memory the mind— A poem should be motionless in time As the moon climbs. * A poem should be equal to: Not true. For all the history of grief An empty doorway and a maple leaf. For love The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea— A poem should not mean But be.