LAST DAY to register for the 40th anniversary NC Writers’ Network Fall Conference! Don't miss the chance to secure your spot in this celebration of the Network’s 40th anniversary: a weekend full of classes, discussions, readings, and literary community. buff.ly/ZmwSBeh

2 Days left to register for the 40th anniversary NC Writers’ Network Fall Conference! That gives you the rest of the weekend to secure your spot in this celebration of the Network’s 40th anniversary: a weekend full of classes, discussions, readings, and literary community. buff.ly/ZmwSBeh

3 Days left to register for the 40th anniversary NC Writers’ Network Fall Conference! That gives you the weekend to secure your spot in this celebration of the Network’s 40th anniversary: a weekend full of classes, discussions, readings, and literary community. buff.ly/ZmwSBeh

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian . . . from "Having a Coke with You" by Frank O'Hara buff.ly/Exm1MTH

The quake last night was nothing personal, you told me this morning. I think one always wonders, unless, of course, something is visible: tremors that take us, private and willy-nilly, are usual . . . from "Earth Tremors Felt in Missouri" by Mona Van Duyn buff.ly/n9MhKOV

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster . . . from "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop buff.ly/54dN6Yx

Huffy Henry hid the day, unappeasable Henry sulked. I see his point,—a trying to put things over. It was the thought that they thought they could do it made Henry wicked & away. But he should have come out and talked. from "Dream Song 1" by John Berryman buff.ly/4rLIAsD

You have to let things Occupy their own space. This room is small, But the green settee Likes to be here. The big marsh reeds, Crowding out the slough, Find the world good. You have to let things Be as they are . . . from "What Things Want" by Robert Bly buff.ly/Z1PGEwd

Right under their noses, the green Of the field is paling away Because of something fallen from the sky. They see this, and put down Their long heads deeper in grass That only just escapes reflecting them . . . from "The Dusk of Horses" by James Dickey buff.ly/PdqxCJp

Against the stone breakwater, Only an ominous lapping, While the wind whines overhead, Coming down from the mountain, Whistling between the arbors, the winding terraces . . . from "The Storm" by Theodore Roethke buff.ly/jLCcAnP

There was such speed in her little body, And such lightness in her footfall, It is no wonder her brown study Astonishes us all. Her wars were bruited in our high window . . . from "Bells for John Whiteside's Daughter" by John Crowe Ransom buff.ly/RQlAwEE

We were alone one night on a long road in Montana. This was in winter, a big night, far to the stars. We had hitched, my wife and I, and left our ride at a crossing to go on. Tired and cold—but brave—we trudged along . . . from "Once in the 40's" by William Stafford buff.ly/LFC0HYB

Live in the Triad? UNCG Creative Writing alum Evan Fackler will be reading his award-winning story "IDP’s.” TODAY, Saturday, October 11th, at 2PM at Scuppernong Books, 304. S. Elm Street. buff.ly/9NVurHX To read more about the Doris Betts Fiction Prize: buff.ly/Gugtaxf

Who knows whether the sea heals or corrodes? The wading, wintered pack-beasts of the feet slough off, in spring, the dead rind of the shoes' leather detention, the big toe's yellow horn shines with a natural polish . . . from "Plague of Dead Sharks" by Alan Dugan buff.ly/qDbN8Yp

Live in the Triad? UNCG Creative Writing alum Evan Fackler will be reading his award-winning story "IDP’s.” tomorrow, Saturday, October 11th, at 2PM at Scuppernong Books, 304. S. Elm Street. buff.ly/9NVurHX To read more about the Doris Betts Fiction Prize: buff.ly/Gugtaxf

The saris go by me from the embassies. Cloth from the moon. Cloth from another planet. They look back at the leopard like the leopard . . . from "Woman at the Washington Zoo" by Randall Jarrell buff.ly/qwgQWoI

Nautilus Island's hermit heiress still lives through winter in her Spartan cottage; her sheep still graze above the sea. Her son's a bishop. Her farmer is first selectman in our village, she's in her dotage . . . from "Skunk Hour" by Robert Lowell buff.ly/y688jSj

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go. We think by feeling. What is there to know? I hear my being dance from ear to ear. I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow from "The Waking" by Theodore Roethke buff.ly/ptkwRFo

Identifying the Pathogen, the latest collection from UNCG Creative Writing alum Jennifer Millitello, is now available for pre-order from Tupelo Press buff.ly/D7yYSms @mfagreensboro.bsky.social

So hangs the hour like fruit fullblown and sweet, Our strict and desperate avatar, Despite that antique westward gulls lament Over enormous waters which retreat Weary unto the white and sensual star . . . from "San Francisco Night Windows" by Robert Penn Warren buff.ly/meVeUMC

Your voice, with clear location of June days, Called me outside the window. You were there, Light yet composed, as in the just soft stare Of uncontested summer all things raise Plainly their seeming into seamless air . . . from "June Light" by Richard Wilbur buff.ly/fT1rID7

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after, And the poetry he invented was easy to understand; He knew human folly like the back of his hand, And was greatly interested in armies and fleets . . . from "Epitaph on a Tyrant" by W.H. Auden buff.ly/ShtDDhO

Live in the Triad? UNCG Creative Writing alum Evan Fackler will be reading his award-winning story "IDP’s.” one week from today (Saturday, October 11th) at 2PM at Scuppernong Books, 304. S. Elm Street. The ehttps://buff.ly/9NVurHX To read more about the Doris Betts Fiction Prize: buff.ly/Gugtaxf

The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book. The house was quiet and the world was calm . . . from "The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm" by Wallace Stevens buff.ly/CgVAlXB

The parrot, screeching, flew out into the darkness, Circled three times above the upturned faces With a great whir of brilliant outspread wings, And then returned to stagger on her finger. She bowed and smiled, eliciting applause… from "Duval's Birds" by Conrad Aiken buff.ly/6eQFgXY

Readings Might Be Turning Into America’s New Favorite Pastime | ELECTRIC LIT "Across the country, the number of untethered readings disconnected from a specific publisher or magazine has skyrocketed over the past couple of years." buff.ly/zO1WYZS

The tremulously mirrored clouds lie deep, Enchanted towers bosomed in the stream, And blossomed coronals of white-thorn gleam Within the water where the willows sleep— Still-imaged willow-leaves whose shadows steep . . . from "Imagery" by Archibald MacLeish buff.ly/gY5pShY

Man looking into the sea, taking the view from those who have as much right to it as you have to yourself, it is human nature to stand in the middle of a thing, but you cannot stand in the middle of this . . . from "A Grave" by Marianne Moore buff.ly/N7obXW8

Happy Pub Day to UNCG Creative Writing alum James Daniels! God-Damned Eden lunches today from Bull City Press buff.ly/fgmanXj @mfagreensboro.bsky.social

Call the roller of big cigars, The muscular one, and bid him whip In kitchen cups concupiscent curds. Let the wenches dawdle in such dress As they are used to wear, and let the boys Bring flowers in last month's newspapers . . . from "The Emperor of Ice-Cream" by Wallace Stevens buff.ly/ihjtREQ

The half-stripped trees struck by a wind together, bending all, the leaves flutter drily and refuse to let go or driven like hail stream bitterly out to one side and fall where the salvias, hard carmine,— from "Approach of Winter" by William Carlos Williams buff.ly/2mhsXjI

In dim light now, his eyes straining to survey the territory: here is the country of Loss, its colony Grief; the great continent Desire and its borderland Regret; vast, unfathomable water an archipelago—the tiny islands of Joy . . .

The orchard was on fire, but that didn’t stop him from slowly walking straight into it, shirtless, you can see where the flames have foliaged—here, especially—his chest . . . from "Dirt Being Dirt" by Carl Phillips buff.ly/oWhB4p1

I thought by now my reverence would have waned, matured to the tempered silence of the bookish or revealed how blasé I’ve grown with age, but the unrestrained joy I feel when a black skein of geese voyages like a dropped string from God . . from "Thinking of Frost" by Major Jackson buff.ly/1oXzgdX

Take today. I want there to be less of everything—wind & worry, of leaves littering the ground & love letters, addressee unknown. Return to sender— this, my quarrel with what must be told. from "Dog Star" by Kevin Young buff.ly/7Ffn7T1

My father was an enormous man Who believed kindness and lack of size Were nothing more than sissified Signs of weakness. Narrow-minded, His eyes were the worst kind Of jury — deliberate, distant, hard. from "Sticks" by. Thomas Sayers Ellis buff.ly/bARVASe

Like a wide wake, rippling Infinitely into the distance, everything That ever was still is, somewhere, Floating near the surface, nursing Its hunger for you and me And the now we’ve named And made a place of. from "Everything That Ever Was" by Tracy K. Smith buff.ly/JksD974

when I see the shadow of the hawk but not the hawk itself do you know what it feels like Boss a stone a stone set on my chest it weighs me down it's stronger than the horse's strain against the plowlines . . . from "Bucolics [LIX]" by Maurice Manning buff.ly/6PFWKMf

You can get there from here, though there’s no going home. Everywhere you go will be somewhere you’ve never been. Try this: head south on Mississippi 49, one— by—one mile markers ticking off another minute of your life. from "Theories of Time and Space" by Natasha Trethewey buff.ly/gVxVk26

It has taken thirty-five years to be this confident of what happens between the noun and the verb. Eventually, love goes. The image. Then the thought. No? Then you are still alive. Only a little . . . from "The Language of Love" by Rodney Jones buff.ly/f1ndCmZ

Thirty seconds into the barbecue, my Cleveland cousins have everyone speaking Southern—broadened vowels and dropped consonants, whoops and caws. from "Family Reunion" by Rita Dove buff.ly/iARj5l1

After my night job, I sat in class and ate, every thirteen minutes, an orange peanut—butter cracker. Bright grease adorned my notes. At noon I rushed to my day job and pushed a broom enough to keep the boss calm if not happy . . . from "Day Job and Night Job" by Andrew Hudgins buff.ly/jTfjG97

Last century we took a lot of shots Of what we did, framing things for Look and Life So we could see us and our lot Riveting the lattice of a skyline Or walking the I beams of infinite rooms Over Manhattan, Cleveland, Washington— from "Last Century" by Wyatt Prunty buff.ly/SRt7tII

To weep unbidden, to wake at night in order to weep, to wait for the whisker on the face of the clock to twitch again, moving the dumb day forward— is this merely practice? from "Practice" by Ellen Bryant Voigt buff.ly/rhKcKaC

Happy to have some new poems in the latest issue of Action, Spectacle. Three tributes to Greensboro poets past and present. buff.ly/6UH0j33

Thanks for the tree between me & a sniper's bullet. I don't know what made the grass sway seconds before the Viet Cong raised his soundless rifle. Some voice always followed, telling me which foot to put down first. from "Thanks" by Yusef Komunyakaa buff.ly/LeQ9SfE

A drift of wind when August wheeled brought back to mind an alfalfa field where green windrows bleached down to hay while storm clouds rose and rolled our way. from "A Crosstown Breeze" by Henry Taylor buff.ly/iAmsDkH

I often wonder about the others, Where they are bound for on the voyage, What is the reason for their silence, Was there some reason to go away? from "Sestina on Six Words by Weldon Kees" by Donald Justice buff.ly/P0phjtm

As on a crowded Interstate the drivers in boredom or irritation speed ahead or lag (taken with sudden enthusiasms for seventy-five), surging ahead a little by weaving between lanes but still . . . from "Interstate Highway" by James Applewhite buff.ly/lNRvpbO

I’m here, on the dark porch, restyled in my mother’s chair. 10:45 and no moon. Below the house, car lights Swing down, on the canyon floor, to the sea . . . from "Sitting at Night on the Front Porch" by Charles Wright buff.ly/28XT5FN