Living Things

“Our poems / Are like the wart-hogs” /

Our poems
Are like the wart-hogs
In the zoo
It's hard to say
Why there should be such creatures

But once our life gets into them
As sometimes happens
Our poems
Turn into living things
And there's no arguing
With living things
They are
The way they are

Our poems
May be rough
Or delicate
Little
Or great

But always
They have inside them
A confluence of cries
And secret languages

And always The are improvident And free They keep A ...

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Also in this Issue

Issue 36 / November 26, 2015
  1. Editor’s Note

    Issue 36: What smells so good, the other First Thanksgiving, and birds that gather to remember. /

  2. Oh, How He Smells Us

    Sniff and see that the Lord is good. /

  3. The First Thanksgiving We Don’t Remember

    Bad fortune, divine chastisement, and mercy after the Pilgrims feasted with the Wampanoag. /

  4. Bird Brained

    You know you can’t fly. But they may have you beat on memory, too. /

  5. Wonder on the Web

    Issue 36: Links to amazing stuff.

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