Den Poets Society

04/03/2020

“The world once again confirms it has no use for poetry … but that is not me. I am not the world.” - Pope John Paul III. These days this quote has been echoing in my head. Art is necessary. Poetry and all other mediums are necessary. They will get us through as the storm passes. This is something many are now learning and valuing when they didn't before.

04/01/2020

It's National Poetry Month! I challenge you to write a poem each day, no matter how short or long, no matter how good or bad, no matter how sad or silly.

03/26/2020

We hope all is safe and healthy with you and your family. ❤️ I hope you use this time to follow creative passions.

01/02/2020

Happy New Year!

12/02/2019

The Second Coming
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

09/28/2019

(the problem) »the solution« by anatol knotek

07/19/2019

The rain set early in tonight,
The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
And did its worst to vex the lake:
I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
And, last, she sat down by my side
And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me — she
Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
For love of her, and all in vain:
So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
Made my heart swell, and still it grew
While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
In one long yellow string I wound
Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
I warily oped her lids: again
Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
I propped her head up as before,
Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
That all it scorned at once is fled,
And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria's love: she guessed not how
Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
And all night long we have not stirred,
And yet God has not said a word!

07/12/2019

✨✨

A lyrical reminder to break the momentum of busyness that fuels “the sadness of never understanding ourselves.”

07/03/2019

Humans are so reckless with time
and we fall through it like ghosts
trapped between worlds;
as though there were
no beginning, no end...
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SO....
Greetings, Den Poets and Friends!

I’m proposing a pop-up Den Poets gathering. In the time since we’ve been together we have endured tragedies, we’ve fallen, failed, traveled, loved, lost, triumphed. Riches for poetry. Bring what you’ve written, what you’re writing, what you’re reading. I’ve missed you all. sending love.

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The Ale & Witch Gallery
24 July 8pm

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official event page to follow ✨

carpe diem

07/01/2019

Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.
Rumi