book reviews
Reviews of the best poetry books, collections and anthologies; discover poems and up-and-coming poets across all cultures, genres and themes.
The Blueprint of Letting Go
When you have poured your absolute depth into the world, the hardest part isn't the writing—it is the waiting. This guide is a step-by-step roadmap for reclaiming your energy, closing the circle, and shifting the heavy lifting entirely off your shoulders after you have already set the threshold.
By Syl De'Vil3 days ago in Poets
My Pain. Content Warning.
I felt your rain upon my face as it trinkled down my throat. I danced in rain all about your place; squished it between my toes, accepting the cleansing restoration, return of all lost hope, peeling back the layered sands as the lands still flood below. lifting worship, I praise your name, cause your strength is how I cope. A gift to all of God's creation, let Jesus steer your boat. He calms the seas. He brings you rain. He will keep you afloat. He has the keys to break all the chains; to Him I shall devote. He loved us then, as He loves us now; restores all whom are broke. He is our peace. Oh! Hear how He cries. . please. Don't get trapped within the smoke. Everly patient, graciously waiting, Jesus Christ come quickly you alone are our only hope!
By Dina Evans 18 days ago in Poets
Blanked Verse?
Prologue: We are indeed fortunate to have discovered a long-lost poem by Mr. F. S. W. Stegalitz, one of the finest poets of the nineteenth century; a worthy rival to Dickinson, Hopkins, Whitman, Pushkin, or many of the modern poets of the last century. As those of you who read and love poetry know, Mr. Stegalitz was not a fan of the publication industry, feeling that they were ''vultures and leeches in bowties'' (a rare direct quote), so he kept his work close to home and would only allowed certain scholars and readers he felt worth his time see his work. Fortunately, one of those readers was able to acquire his work after his passing and save it for future generations. Unfortunately, it again became lost and hidden in a desk drawer that would have remained undiscovered were it not for the efforts of our investigators.
By Kendall Defoe about a month ago in Poets
