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Best Wes Lydon podcasts we could find (updated August 2020)
Best Wes Lydon podcasts we could find
Updated August 2020
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Today By Billy Collins If ever there were a spring day so perfect, so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze that it made you want to throw open all the windows in the house and unlatch the door to the canary's cage, indeed, rip the little door from its jamb, a day when the cool brick paths and the garden bursting with peonies seemed so etched in s…
 
Toad Circus by Julia Story The day after my toad circus the toads were all dead, crunchy and silent in their window well. I wanted to draw a doorway to walk through to get to the world of lilacs: purple, contagious green leaves and no movement but the steady invisible breathing of flowers. I knew I had to tell someone what I had done so I first wal…
 
Occasional Poem BY JACQUELINE WOODSON Ms. Marcus says that an occasional poem is a poem written about something important or special that's gonna happen or already did. Think of a specific occasion, she says—and write about it. Like what?! Lamont asks. He's all slouched down in his seat. I don't feel like writing about no occasion. How about your b…
 
Ars Poetica BY ARCHIBALD MACLEISH A poem should be palpable and mute As a globed fruit, Dumb As old medallions to the thumb, Silent as the sleeve-worn stone Of casement ledges where the moss has grown— A poem should be wordless As the flight of birds. * A poem should be motionless in time As the moon climbs, Leaving, as the moon releases Twig by tw…
 
“On Turning Ten” Billy Collins The whole idea of it makes me feel like I'm coming down with something, something worse than any stomach ache or the headaches I get from reading in bad light-- a kind of measles of the spirit, a mumps of the psyche, a disfiguring chicken pox of the soul. You tell me it is too early to be looking back, but that is bec…
 
"If I Had Known" By Mary Carolyn Davies If I had known what trouble you were bearing; What griefs were in the silence of your face; I would have been more gentle, and more caring, And tried to give you gladness for a space. I would have brought more warmth into the place, If I had known. If I had known what thoughts despairing drew you; (Why do we …
 
Autumn Kalidasa The autumn comes, a maiden fair In slenderness and grace, With nodding rice-stems in her hair And lilies in her face. In flowers of grasses she is clad; And as she moves along, Birds greet her with their cooing glad Like bracelets' tinkling song. A diadem adorns the night Of multitudinous stars; Her silken robe is white moonlight, S…
 
Did I Miss Anything Tom Wayman Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here we sat with our hands folded on our desks in silence, for the full two hours Everything. I gave an exam worth 40 percent of the grade for this term and assigned some reading due today on which I’m about to hand out a quiz worth 50 percent Nothing. None of the content of this …
 
Does Maude Have Friends? (A Poem in Fifteen Tweets) Raphael Bob-Waksberg @RaphaelBW Does Marge have friends? @RaphaelBW (a poem in fifteen tweets) @RaphaelBW Who are Marge’s friends? Is Helen Lovejoy a friend? Sarah Wiggum? Agnes Skinner? @RaphaelBW To whom does Marge spill her secrets over coffee on cold days? Who laughs at Marge’s jokes? Who know…
 
We Wear the Mask Paul Laurence Dunbar We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let them only see us, while We wear the mask. We…
 
A Good Dog Wesley Lydon Tail-wagging and leash-pulling as we lead her into her new home, let loose she runs from the front door, runs fast not about the house, wild, but out into the back. Excitement paused for manners, she uses the little dog's room that first sweet day, because She is a Good Dog. Tail-wagging, window-fogging as we bring Santa's s…
 
The Wounded Cupid. Song BY ANACREON TRANSLATED BY ROBERT HERRICK Cupid as he lay among Roses, by a Bee was stung. Whereupon in anger flying To his Mother, said thus crying; Help! O help! your Boy’s a dying. And why, my pretty Lad, said she? Then blubbering, replied he, A winged Snake has bitten me, Which Country people call a Bee. At which she smil…
 
Cape Cod Pantoum Maria Nazos Tonight you’re loaning Billy your car, a brand-new seal-gray Volkswagen Passat with four doors, though last week at 3 a.m., he stole your canoe, and sank it in the autumn sea, then swam ashore. Tonight you’re lending Billy your car—it’s brand-new— and he’s a well-meaning, blue-eyed Byronic drinking man who last week, at…
 
Your body wakes into its quiet rattle. Ropes & ropes . . . How quickly the animal empties. We’re alone again with spent mouths. Two trout gasping on a June shore. Side by side, I see what I came for, behind your iris: a tiny mirror. I stare into its silver syllable where a fish with my face twitches once then gones. The fisherman suddenly a boy wit…
 
Leisure William Henry Davies What is this life if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at B…
 
Bob Hicok Alzheimer's Chairs move by themselves, and books. Grandchildren visit, stand new and nameless, their faces’ puzzles missing pieces. She’s like a fish in a deep ocean, its body made of light. She floats through rooms, through my eyes, an old woman bereft of chronicle, the parable of her life. And though she’s almost a child there’s still b…
 
Richard Brautigan IT’S RAINING IN LOVE I don’t know what it is, but I distrust myself when I start to like a girl a lot. It makes me nervous. I don’t say the right things or perhaps I start to examine, evaluate compute what I am saying. If I say, “Do you think it’s going to rain?” and she says, “I don’t know,” I start thinking: Does she really like…
 
What the Spider Heard Weldon Kees Will there be time for eggnogs and eclogues In the place where we’re going? Said the spider to the fly. I think not, said the fly. I think not, sang the chorus. I think not, said a stranger Who mysteriously happened by. Will they beat me and treat me the way they did here, In the place where we’re going? Asked the …
 
The Infinite By Charles Simic The infinite yawns and keeps yawning. Is it sleepy? Does it miss Pythagoras? The sails on Columbus’s three ships? Does the sound of the surf remind it of itself? Does it ever sit over a glass of wine and philosophize? Does it peek into mirrors at night? Does it have a suitcase full of souvenirs stashed away somewhere? …
 
Bringing My Son to the Police Station to be Fingerprinted Shoshauna Shy My lemon-colored whisper-weight blouse with keyhole closure and sweetheart neckline is tucked into a pastel silhouette skirt with side-slit vents and triplicate pleats when I realize in the sunlight through the windshield that the cool yellow of this blouse clashes with the but…
 
Summer Wind By William Cullen Bryant It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk The dew that lay upon the morning grass; There is no rustling in the lofty elm That canopies my dwelling, and its shade Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint And interrupted murmur of the bee, Settling on the sick flowers, and then again Instantly on the wing. The p…
 
Introduction to Poetry BY BILLY COLLINS I ask them to take a poem and hold it up to the light like a color slide or press an ear against its hive. I say drop a mouse into a poem and watch him probe his way out, or walk inside the poem’s room and feel the walls for a light switch. I want them to waterski across the surface of a poem waving at the au…
 
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