I'm nervous for you. Do you have any clue where your Book of Beginnings is going?

A bot to write your poetry, rejection letter Bingo, using your boredom and writer's block for good instead of evil. It's another week of our Top Ten Poetic Picks.

I found Paul Chowder at the Tip O’Neill building. He was in the passport office cajoling the bureaucrats into renewing his travel documents just days before his departure to Switzerland for some big international poetry doings because he didn’t realize he’d expired. I was there for my once-a-decade passport renewal even though I had no [...]

I scheduled a date with Paul Chowder on Friday. We were supposed to hang out and talk about Sara Teasdale. He’d been going on about how some poets spend too much time thinking about death, like going to a movie and just waiting for the credits, which my dad taught me are very interesting if you [...]

I moved upstairs to the kitchen to work. I don’t like the kitchen much. It reminds me of all the times I have to cook, and cooking is not something I enjoy. Sometimes when I cook, there’s a fire, and I’m not sure the fire extinguisher was recharged after the last one. It wasn’t my [...]

The best in poetry (and poetic things), this week with Matthew Kreider.

It’s not the prettiest lake. The shoreline is steep and craggy in most places, without much sandy beach. Where I am now, in a city park just across the border into Minnesota, there isn’t a beach at all. Just large blocks of granite cut and hauled in to stave off erosion and flooding. By this [...]

My friend is taking a pottery class. Last week she told me she’s enjoying it even while she wonders if she’s moving too slowly. At her last class, she formed a coil pot but hadn’t had time to get anything on the wheel. “But I figure I’d rather take home a few things I want [...]

When my parents brought me to the emergency room for the second time in as many weeks, they worried that, even in the 1960s, my sudden susceptibility to injury might raise suspicions of mistreatment. I already wore Raggedy Ann-like black stitches on my face after a mishap involving a swivel chair, coffee table and locked [...]

What if inspiration struck, and this happened to you? Our poor Poet never seems to find his sweet spot.

What really happened on the golf course that fateful day? The things we cannot write about today, we will surely find we can write about tomorrow.