Explore the Sunday Poem archives here. Everything Changes Bertolt Brecht Everything changes. You can make A fresh start with your final breath. But what has happened has happened. And the water You once poured into the wine cannot be Drained off again. What has happened has happened. The water You once poured into the wine cannot … [Read more...]

Explore the Sunday Poem archives here. Proportion Ben Jonson It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light. In … [Read more...]

Explore the Sunday Poem archives here. The Garret Ezra Pound Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are. Come, my friend, and remember that the rich have butlers and no friends, And we have friends and no butlers. Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried. Dawn enters with little feet like a gilded … [Read more...]

Explore the Sunday Poem archives here. La Siesta Juan Gil-Albert When I arrive at that secret confine and they question me, "What is the Earth?" I should say a cold place where the dictator overbears and the oppressed cry long tears and where, in shadows and gold teeth, injustice does the rounds taking up his profits from the men of … [Read more...]

The Dance C.K. Williams A middle-aged woman, quite plain, to be polite about it, and somewhat stout, to be more courteous still, but when she and the rather good-looking, much younger man she's with get up to dance, her forearm descends with such delicate lightness, such restrained but confident ardor athwart his shoulder, drawing him to … [Read more...]

Courage Anne Sexton It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk. The first spanking when your heart went on a journey all alone. When they called you crybaby or poor or fatty or crazy and made you into an alien, you drank their … [Read more...]

Contribute your thoughts on the poem to the community by commenting below. Explore the Sunday Poem archives here. The Peace of Wild Things Wendell Berry When despair grows in me and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's life may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his … [Read more...]