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Poem Of The Day

Happy Birthday, Ella Wheeler Wilcox! | Poems Rethabile Likes

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Happy Birthday, Ella Wheeler Wilcox! | Poems Rethabile Likes 🎂 Happy Birthday, Ella Wheeler Wilcox! Poet • Novelist • Journalist • born 5 November 1850 Today we celebrate the birthday of Ella Wheeler Wilcox — an American poet, novelist, and journalist whose accessible, rhyming verse reached a large readership during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Often associated with optimism and emotional directness, she published collections including Poems of Passion (1883), Poems of Pleasure (1888), and Poems of Peace (1906). Her Poems of Passion initially met publishers' resistance because its acknowledgement of women's passions was considered improper — once published, it sold 60,000 copies in two years. Here is her "Bleak Weather," a bright, defiant love poem: let the snow...

Happy Birthday, Oodgeroo Noonuccal! | Poems Rethabile Likes

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Happy Birthday, Oodgeroo Noonuccal! | Poems Rethabile Likes 🎂 Happy Birthday, Oodgeroo Noonuccal! Poet • Educator • Environmentalist • Indigenous rights campaigner • born 3 November 1920 Today we celebrate the birthday of Oodgeroo Noonuccal — formerly known as Kath Walker — an Aboriginal Australian poet, educator, environmentalist, and campaigner for Indigenous rights. Raised on Minjerribah (North Stradbroke Island), she brought Aboriginal experiences and demands for justice to a wide readership. Her debut collection, We Are Going (1964), was the first poetry publication by an Aboriginal Australian — brought into print with the help of fellow poet Judith Wright, then a submissions reader for Jacaranda Press. Here is her "Municipal Gum," a lament for a gumtree set in bitumen, and for ...

The Fury of Sunsets by Anne Sexton | Poems Rethabile Likes

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The Fury of Sunsets by Anne Sexton | Poems Rethabile Likes The Fury of Sunsets by Anne Sexton Something cold is in the air, an aura of ice and phlegm. All day I’ve built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it. The horizon bleeds and sucks its thumb. The little red thumb goes out of sight. And I wonder about this lifetime with myself, this dream I’m living. I could eat the sky like an apple but I’d rather ask the first star: why am I here? why do I live in this house? who’s responsible? eh? ...