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Our far-flung Western net-desk night editor Tom Sexton, once the Poet Laureate of Alaska and always a distinguished alumnus of Lowell High School, sent this new poem inspired by a work of art he bought from Bill Giavis, a legend at the Brush Gallery in Market Mills downtown.—PM .…
Read More »This week’s rain and thaw are not good for ice on local ponds, brooks, and lakes, but January is hockey season, so I thought I’d dig this composition out of the vault this morning. The poem was first published in my second full-length collection of poems, Middle Distance (1989). Sweeney’s…
Read More »This poem, from Tom Sexton’s recent book Bridge Street at Dusk (Loom Press, 2012), connects to the “Moody Gardens” post below.—PM . Manny He was a minor god of the underworld whose euphonious name brought no reply if mentioned during the day, a lounge singer, a god of sirens and…
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Read More »In keeping with Paul’s nod to Robert Frost, let’s remember another Merrimack Valley poet even more associated with the beauty, wiles and challenges of a snow storm. John Greenleaf Whittier – a rural Haverhill-born poet – offers the narrated tale of a snowstorm in early 1800’s New England. Let we forget – Whittier has the…
Read More »Dust of Snow The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree . Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued. —Robert Frost (1874-1963) . “Frost’s own poetical education began in San Francisco…
Read More »Thanks to journalist John Collins and the Sun newspaper for reporting on artist Vassilios “Bill” Giavis’s gift of a print of one of his classic paintings to the Town of Dracut. The original painting was based on a poem of mine. Read the story here. A Hundred Nights of Winter…
Read More »On this snowy night, from Alaska comes a poem with a snowy owl, courtesy of our desk in the West manned by Tom Sexton. Here’s a Lowell memory for our readers. For those who don’t know, Tom Sexton is a distinguished alumnus of Lowell High School and former Poet Laureate…
Read More »Along with Henri Marchand’s “fruitcake” essay, the re-appearance of this poem has become part of the Christmas tradition for this blog. I wrote the first draft of this poem in 1976, and worked on it on-and-off for a long time. I had in mind the extensive outdoor lighting displays in Dracut (the…
Read More »We have a new poem by Tom Sexton of Lowell and Alaska and Maine.—PM . The Last Sunday Train Little did I know back then when I walked beside my father to the old North Station, after Warren Spahn and Johnny Sain pitched a doubleheader, that the Boston Braves would…
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