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July 6, 1535: London

Then the axe fell. And the weight of the crowd immeasurably shifted. The soul of the quiet man no longer drew their eyes—whether miserable or indignant— to some convergence on the little scaffold. Some turned uncomfortably to their neighbor, but felt, instead of the easy word or glance, a hollowness about the ...

Sarah Breisch on Monika Cooper

The flight from time is essential to the human condition, but is also a typically modern fancy. We have built our world upon devices and rituals whose sole purpose is to bend time to our will, to escape the perceived bondage we are in to its unrelenting tread. But what we have forgotten, and what this poem by Monika Cooper reminds ...

The Wound Dresser

Soft, late at night, by the late star light, you can see the wound dresser going round the camp, tallowy lamp in his hand and its flame leaf yellow, opening tent stays with his silken paws— the camp men say he has the softest fingers of any nurse you’d know— as he makes his slow rounds, beard gold as the ...

Something Worth the Trip: Is Poetry Worth it? Movement II

[In this post, Adam Cooper gives his response to the questions posed here. It's never too late to give your own! -ed.]   The Pasture, by Robert Frost I'm going out to clean the pasture spring; I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away (And wait to watch the water clear, I may): I sha’n’t be gone long.—You come ...