Jenn Reese Writer, Artist, Geek

Nat’l Poetry Month!


Not sure why I waited to talk about poetry until the last day of National Poetry Month, but better late than never.

Since high school, one of my favorite poets has been e. e. cummings. I fell so in love with his poem “anyone lived in a pretty how town” that I included a line from it in my senior yearbook quote: “sun moon stars rain.” Here’s the first stanza and a link to the poem on

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did

Two of my favorite poets in recent years are Tim Pratt, who has a poetry collection and vast number of published poems, and cafenowhere, who gifts us with amazing free poems almost every day on Livejournal. (Go read some!)

Here are a few lines from one of my favorite Tim Pratt poems, “Ghost“:

The sorcerer got home from his job
at the 7-11 and stood limp in the center
of his empty bedroom, reading runes
in the fine traceries of dust. The blurry
portents gave him only old news:
She’s gone.

Got a favorite poem or two to share?

About the author

Jenn Reese


  • Love Tim's poem. This is one of my favorite poems. Caution, very sad–about the Spanish Civil War, but it could be around Iraq, Afghanistan, anywhere. It's by Pablo Neruda.

    I'll Explain some Things

    You’ll ask, Where are the lilacs?

    And the philosophy dreamy with poppies?

    And the rain which kept beating out

    Your words, filling them

    With water-specks and birds?

    I’m going to tell you everything that happened to me.

    I lived in a neighborhood

    In Madrid with church bells

    And clock towers and trees.

    From there you could see

    The dry face of Castille

    Like a sea of leather

    My house was called

    “The house with the flowers” because around it

    Geraniums exploded. It was

    A beautiful house

    With dogs and kids.

    Raúl, do you remember?

    Frederico, do you still remember

    Under the ground?

    Do you remember my house with the balconies

    Where the June light soaked your mouth with

    The taste of flowers?

    Brother! Brother!

    The market place of Arguelles, my neighborhood

    With its statue like a pale inkwell among

    The fish stalls.

    It was all

    Loud voices, salty commerce,

    A deep rumble

    Of feet and hands filled the streets,

    Meters and liters,

    The sharp essence of life,

    Fish stacked up,

    The texture of roofs in the cold sun in which

    The weather-vane grows tired.

    Fine, crazily carved ivory of potatoes

    Lines of tomatoes to the sea.

    Then one morning flames

    Came out of the ground

    Devouring human beings.

    From then on fire,

    Gunpowder from then on,

    From then on blood.

    Bandits with airplanes and Moorish troops

    Bandits with gold rings and duchesses

    Bandits with black monks giving their blessing

    Came across the sky to kill children

    And through the streets, the blood of children

    Ran simply, like children’s blood does.

    Jackals that a jackal would reject

    Stones that a dry thistle would bite and spit out

    Vipers that vipers would hate!

    I have seen the blood

    Of Spain rise up against you

    To drown you in a single wave

    Of pride and knives!



    Look at my dead home

    Look at broken Spain –

    But from each dead house

    Burning metal shoots out

    Instead of flowers.

    From every shell-hole in Spain

    Spain will rise.

    From every dead child a rifle with

    Eyes will rise.

    From every crime bullets will be born

    Which will one day find a place

    In your hearts.

    You ask “Why doesn’t your poetry

    Speak to us of dreams and leaves

    Of the great volcanoes of your native land?”


    See the blood along the streets

    Come see

    The blood along the streets

    Come see the blood

    Along the Streets!

  • My favorite poem of all time…and I love poetry…

    "Wild nights – Wild Nights!

    Were I with thee

    Wild Nights should be

    Our luxury!

    Futile – The Winds –

    To a Heart in port –

    Done with the Compass –

    Done with the Chart!

    Rowing in Eden –

    Ah, the Sea!

    Might I but Moor – Tonight –

    In thee!"

    It gets me every time.

By Jenn Reese
Jenn Reese Writer, Artist, Geek

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