Uh Oh, Spring Has Sprung! “Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, / The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; / And ‘tis my ...

“Spring night four a.m.” from WAIT TILL I’M DEAD: UNCOLLECTED POEMS © 2016 by The Estate of Allen Ginsberg. Originally published in Villager, vol. 44, no. 20 ...

I’m writing this column in the earliest days of another spring, and here’s a fine spring poem from Rose King’s book “Time and Peonies,” from Hummingbird Press. The poet lives in California. a man in a ...

bowing pines. Determined snow flakes fell, flocking Mother Nature in a fluffy, white gown. Another wink of winter’s snow. She glistens, spreading her soft blanket with a gentle whisper. “Not yet, ...

This is such an equivocal spring poem, which suits my mood entirely. Flowers are blooming here in this beautiful part of the world, while whole cities are reduced to rubble in others. But here is this ...

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My Rosie Looks so cozy. . The Sun is bright. A beautiful sight. . The flowers prance. I want to dance. . No need to weed.

User-Created Clip March 28, 2016 2003-03-21T12:59:51-05:00https://ximage.c-spanvideo.org ...

Notes: Few passers-by notice a granite marker on Cider Hill Road (Route 91) that identifies the spot where John Greenleaf Whittier in 1854 encountered a young farm girl in bare feet raking hay, which ...

In springtime, some people grow misty-eyed with allergies to pollen. The poet Lynne McMahon greets the season gladly, but with the recognition of the hay fever sufferer's fate at this coming time of ...