The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
Speed popping, long haul truckers stretch, yak, and drink coffee with locals searching for pancakes or bacon and eggs after a night of drinking, dancing, gambling, and making whoopee at nightspots like the Tower Ballroom, Saddlehead Sam’s, the 69 Drive-In, Barto’s Idle Hour and the VFW. The haggard and the high class together. No place... Read more »
Either the world is coming together or else the world is falling apart— here—now—along these letters, against the walls of every heart. Today, tomorrow, within its weather, the end or beginning’s about to start— the world impossibly coming together or very possibly falling apart. Now the lovers’ mouths are open— maybe the miracle’s about to... Read more »
This air, you say, feels as if it hasn’t touched land for a thousand miles, as surf sound washes through scrub and eucalyptus, whether ocean or wind in the trees or both: the park’s big windmill turning overhead while joggers circle the ball field only a few yards off this path secreted in growth and... Read more »
By the time I was six months old, she knew something was wrong with me. I got looks on my face she had not seen on any child in the family, or the extended family, or the neighborhood. My mother took me in to the pediatrician with the kind hands, a doctor with a name... Read more »
Backs on pier’s cool planks, fingers intertwined, my girlfriend and I gaze into forever as comets tear open the sky, bright streaks winking like distant fireflies. Beyond them, a dwarf planet sulks in its orbit. Einstein said nothing could outrun physics’ laws; even time must bend to fit its rules. Yet scientists once declared Earth... Read more »
Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land. Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love, Make our earth an Eden, Like the heaven above.