Poetry Near You

Find poetry readings, workshops, festivals, conferences, literary organizations, and poetry-friendly bookstores, and learn more about poets laureate, in your area.

To find poetry events and resources near you, simply enter your state in the filter or your zip code in the search field below. You can also Explore Your State to find out more information about your local poets laureate, festivals, conferences, writing programs, literary organizations, landmarks, and more.

See a list of all state poets laureate.

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Summer [excerpt]

   Increasing still the terrors of these storms, 
His jaws horrific arm'd with threefold fate, 
Here dwells the direful Shark. Lured by the scent 
Of steaming crowds, of rank disease, and death, 
Behold, he, rushing, cuts the briny flood, 
Swift as the Gale can bear the ship along; 
And, from the partners of that cruel trade, 
Which spoils unhappy Guinea of her sons, 
Demands his share of prey—demands themselves. 
The stormy Fates descend: one death involves 
Tyrants and slaves; when straight, their mangled limbs 
Crashing at once, he dyes the purple seas 
With gore, and riots in the vengeful meal. 

Dirt Being Dirt

The orchard was on fire, but that didn’t stop him from slowly walking
straight into it, shirtless, you can see where the flames have
foliaged—here, especially—his chest. Splashed by the moon,
it almost looks like the latest proof that, while decoration is hardly
ever necessary, it’s rarely meaningless: the tuxedo’s corsage,
fog when lit scatteredly, swift, from behind—swing of a torch, the lone
match, struck, then wind-shut…How far is instinct from a thing
like belief? Not far, apparently. At what point is believing so close
to knowing, that any difference between the two isn’t worth the fuss,
finally? A tamer of wolves tames no foxes, he used to say, as if avoiding
the question. But never meaning to. You broke it. Now wear it broken.

The American Soldier

[A Picture from the Life]

Deep in a vale, a stranger now to arms,
Too poor to shine in courts, too proud to beg,
He, who once warred on Saratoga’s plains,
Sits musing o’er his scars, and wooden leg.
 
Remembering still the toil of former days,
To other hands he sees his earnings paid;—
They share the due reward—he feeds on praise.
Lost in the abyss of want, misfortune’s shade.
 
Far, far from domes where splendid tapers glare,
‘Tis his from dear bought peace no wealth to win,
Removed alike from courtly cringing ‘squires,
The great-man’s Levee, and the proud man’s grin.
 
Sold are those arms which once on Britons blaz’d,
When, flushed with conquest, to the charge they came;
That power repell’d, and Freedom’s fabrick rais’d,
She leaves her soldier—famine and a name!