The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
This was a day when nothing happened, the children went off to school remembering their books, lunches, gloves. All morning, the baby and I built block stacks in the squares of light on the floor. And lunch blended into naptime, I cleaned out kitchen cupboards, one of those jobs that never gets done, then sat... Read more »
because it’s like being in a John Steinbeck novel. Next best thing is the laundromat. That’s where all people who would be on the bus if they had the money hang out. This is my crowd. Tonight there are cleaning people appalled at the stupidity of anyone who would put powder detergent into the clearly... Read more »
The jonquils. They come back. They split the earth with their green swords, bearing cups of light. The forsythia comes back, spraying its thin whips with blossom, one loud yellow shout. The robins. They come back. They pull the sun on the silver thread of their song. The irises come back. They dance in the... Read more »
Every poem has been written before at least fifteen times. Every song sung better. The Neanderthals discovered caves already painted with the story of their lives. They invented fire over and over again. And you & I whisper the same sweet nothings we were born with.
you won’t know why. Maybe waiting to tie your shoelaces until everything else is in place. Could be you’ll slide your egg yolks aside eat every bit of bacon, toast, whites while the forsaken yellow orbs stare at you from the side pocket of your empty plate. People will ask why do you save your... Read more »
Fans loved him as Rockford, Maverick, a man’s man, had your back, cool, did the right thing. I loved him for being Doris Day’s husband in a movie I cut class to see, fifth grade, played at the Riviera, only old men and me during the day, went alone told no one, but I had... Read more »