The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
The snow is falling on the tall pale reeds near the seashore, and even though in places the sky is heavy and dark, a pale sun peeps through casting its yellow light across the face of the waves coming in. Someone has left a bicycle leaning against the trunk of a sapling and gone into... Read more »
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that... Read more »
With one dear friend we go up the highest mountain thousands of feet into the birdless snow and listen to our breaths in the still air for a long time beside the observatories later we stretch out on the dark crumbled lava slope looking west at the sun yellowing the clouds below then go down... Read more »
Never better, mad as a hatter, right as rain, might and main, hanky-panky, hot toddy, hoity-toity, cold shoulder, bowled over, rolling in clover, low blow, no soap, hope against hope, pay the piper, liar liar pants on fire, high and dry, shoo-fly pie, fiddle-faddle, fit as a fiddle, sultan of swat, muskrat ramble, fat and... Read more »
The text of today’s poem is not available online.
It was afternoon tea, with tea foods spread out Like in the books, except that it was coffee. She made a tin pot of cowboy coffee, from memory, That’s what we used to call it, she said, cowboy coffee. The grounds she pinched up in her hands, not a spoon, And the fire on the... Read more »