The Writer's Almanac
Each day, Garrison Keillor reads a poem and relates stories of significant events touching literary history.
please describe the weather in great detail. If possible, enclose a fist of snow or mud, everything you know about the soil, how tomato leaves rub green against your skin and make you itch, how slow the corn is growing on the hill. Thank you for the photographs of where the chicken coop once stood,... Read more »
So many nights we sat up listening to basketball games, talking about cars and all the cities he had driven through in big trucks, all the dangerous cargo he had carried. My uncle was a night-owl and a storyteller, One-time drunk and chaser of questionable women, lover of American muscle cars, handcrafted wood, Shakespeare fishing... Read more »
On longer evenings, Light, chill and yellow, Bathes the serene Foreheads of houses. A thrush sings, Laurel-surrounded In the deep bare garden, Its fresh-peeled voice Astonishing the brickwork. It will be spring soon, It will be spring soon — And I, whose childhood Is a forgotten boredom, Feel like a child Who comes on a... Read more »
When the voices of children are heard on the green And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast And every thing else is still Then come home my children, the sun is gone down And the dews of night arise Come come leave off play, and let us... Read more »
What a person desires in life is a properly boiled egg. This isn’t as easy as it seems. There must be gas and a stove, the gas requires pipelines, mastodon drills, banks that dispense the lozenge of capital. There must be a pot, the product of mines and furnaces and factories, of dim early mornings... Read more »
The cat calls for her dinner. On the porch I bend and pour brown soy stars into her bowl, stroke her dark fur. It’s not quite night. Pinpricks of light in the eastern sky. Above my neighbor’s roof, a transparent moon, a pink rag of cloud. Inside my house are those who love me. My... Read more »