Yawn Arbuckle

Yawn Arbuckle, an esteemed individual hailing from the enchanting landscapes of Arizona, has dedicated their entire life to the pursuit of poetic excellence. From the sun-drenched deserts to the majestic mountains, Yawn's deep connection with Arizona has shaped their artistic journey. Born and raised in the vibrant city of Phoenix, they found solace and inspiration in the breathtaking beauty of the state. Yawn's passion for poetry blossomed at a young age, as they immersed themselves in the rich literary heritage of Arizona. They delved into the works of renowned poets who found solace in the vastness of the desert and translated their experiences into mesmerizing verses. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, Yawn embarked on an academic journey dedicated to the study of poetry. Attending the prestigious University of Arizona, Yawn honed their poetic craft under the guidance of esteemed professors and immersed themselves in the vibrant literary community of the state. They explored the depths of poetic expression, intertwining the unique essence of Arizona with their own introspective musings. Throughout their academic tenure, Yawn delved into the works of Arizona's literary giants, drawing inspiration from the evocative landscapes and diverse cultural tapestry. Their studies encompassed everything from the poignant verses of Alberto Ríos, capturing the spirit of the Southwest, to the transcendent imagery of poets who found solace in the vastness of the Grand Canyon. Yawn's dedication to their craft led them to participate in numerous poetry workshops and gatherings, where they shared their own creations and engaged in profound discussions with fellow poets. Their unwavering commitment to poetry culminated in the publication of a remarkable anthology that beautifully encapsulated the essence of Arizona's poetic soul. Now, as the esteemed admin of this website, Yawn Arbuckle continues to be a guiding light for poetry enthusiasts, fostering a community where words come alive and imaginations soar. With their vast knowledge and profound understanding of Arizona's poetic legacy, Yawn strives to inspire others to embrace the transformative power of language and embark on their own poetic odysseys. Through their tireless efforts, Yawn Arbuckle remains an unwavering advocate for the poetic arts, breathing life into the pages of this website and inviting poetry lovers from all walks of life to embark on a journey of self-expression and creative exploration.

Haiku from Seventeen Syllables by Hisaye Yamamoto

April 14, 2025

“Haiku from Seventeen Syllables” by Hisaye Yamamoto

it was so much easier to say yes, yes, even when one meant no.

About the author Hisaye Yamamoto

Haiku, Silence, and Struggle in Seventeen Syllables

In Hisaye Yamamoto’s short story Seventeen Syllables, a deceptively simple English-language haiku emerges as a subtle but powerful symbol of emotional restraint, generational divide, and the burden of cultural expectations. The phrase, “It is so much easier to say yes, yes, even if one meant no,” carries deep thematic weight as it encapsulates the central conflict between a Nisei daughter, Rosie, and her Issei mother, Tome, who finds expression and fleeting joy through composing Japanese haiku. The line may appear offhand at first, but under close examination, it becomes a poignant reflection of silent resistance, suppressed identity, and a quiet plea for understanding.

Yamamoto’s Arizona Connection: Writing Through Internment

Before we explore this line further, it’s important to understand the author behind it. Hisaye Yamamoto, a pioneering Japanese-American writer, was imprisoned at the Poston War Relocation Center in Arizona during World War II. Like many others of Japanese descent, Yamamoto and her family were forcibly removed from their home and detained for years behind barbed wire in the Arizona desert. While interned, she wrote for the Poston Chronicle, the camp newspaper, and began cultivating the voice that would later distinguish her fiction.

Yamamoto’s stories, particularly Seventeen Syllables, are deeply informed by this trauma of incarceration, but they also explore the quieter, more intimate struggles within Japanese-American families—especially between mothers and daughters navigating language, identity, and survival in a divided America.

Summary: A Mother’s Voice, A Daughter’s Silence

The story Seventeen Syllables centers on the relationship between Tome, an Issei mother who writes haiku, and Rosie, her teenage Nisei daughter who is more concerned with her budding romantic interest in a boy named Jesus Carrasco. As the mother becomes increasingly consumed with her poetry, winning recognition in a local Japanese-language paper, her American-born daughter remains emotionally and linguistically distant, unable to comprehend her mother’s devotion or sorrow.

Throughout the story, Tome reads her poems aloud to Rosie, seeking connection and affirmation. Rosie, however, can only offer polite nods and automatic approval. She finds it easier to say “yes, yes” rather than confront her confusion or disinterest—hiding her emotional detachment with passive affirmation. The story culminates in a powerful, emotional outburst in which Tome reveals her traumatic history and pleads with Rosie to promise she will never marry. Rosie, once again, quietly complies.

Analysis: Haiku as a Symbol of Disconnection and Survival

The casual haiku—“It is so much easier to say yes, yes, even if one meant no”—functions on multiple levels. On the surface, it reflects Rosie’s immediate emotional coping mechanism: to avoid tension, she offers approval she doesn’t feel. But more deeply, the line encapsulates the silent endurance of women—especially immigrant women like Tome—who suffer emotional pain without protest, navigating cultural and familial expectations with quiet acquiescence.

Haiku, a Japanese poetic form built on brevity (the length is confined to seventeen syllables) and layered imagery, becomes a central symbol in the story. Tome’s haiku practice represents her attempt to reclaim identity, artistry, and emotional agency in a life dominated by domestic labor and an emotionally abusive husband. Yet, her daughter’s inability to fully engage with the meaning of haiku, or the Japanese language itself, mirrors the growing gap between generations—between cultural roots and American assimilation.

Rosie’s “yes, yes” is not just about politeness. It is about powerlessness, about the learned behavior of suppressing dissent for the sake of harmony. It’s a mantra of compliance passed down to daughters, a gesture of love wrapped in silence. The haiku’s meaning reaches beyond the mother-daughter dynamic to touch on a broader experience of marginalized women, who often find themselves silenced not just by language, but by society.

The Lingering Legacy of Internment and Inheritance

Yamamoto’s life and work embody the complicated layers of trauma, identity, and survival for Japanese Americans during and after World War II. Her time at the Poston internment camp in Arizona was not only a formative personal experience but also a defining influence on her literary career. The quiet, restrained beauty of her stories—much like haiku itself—hides deep reservoirs of pain, longing, and resistance.

Discover More About Hisaye Yamamoto

To learn more about Hisaye Yamamoto’s life, her literary achievements, and her connection to Arizona through her internment at the Poston camp, visit her AZPoetry.com poet bio page.

Explore how this remarkable writer gave voice to generations of women, immigrants, and the quietly resilient.

Hisaye Yamamoto

April 14, 2025

Hisaye Yamamoto: A Master of the Short Story and Voice of Japanese-American Experience

Hisaye Yamamoto (August 23, 1921 – January 30, 2011) was a groundbreaking Japanese-American writer and poet, best known for her acclaimed short story collection Seventeen Syllables and Other Stories. With her roots in Southern California and a terrible, yet powerful, connection to Arizona through her imprisonment at the Poston Internment Camp during World War II. Her writing illuminates the silent spaces between generations, cultures, and identities—particularly among Japanese Americans navigating life during and after internment.

A fierce literary voice marked by precision, subtlety, and emotional clarity, Yamamoto is celebrated on AZPoetry.com for her influence on American literature, as well as her profound survival and meaningful exploration of identity, language, and resilience.

From Strawberry Fields to the Written Word

Born in Redondo Beach, California, Hisaye Yamamoto was the daughter of Issei (first-generation Japanese) parents who worked as strawberry farmers amid oil fields. As a young girl, she developed a passion for reading and writing. By the age of 14, she was already publishing under the pen name “Napoleon.” Her early love for language became a foundation for her storytelling, rooted in the tension between her Japanese heritage and her American upbringing as a Nisei (second-generation Japanese American).

Yamamoto’s youthful voice flourished in the English-language sections of Japanese-American newspapers, foreshadowing the themes that would later define her career: generational conflict, gender roles, and cultural dislocation.

Life at Poston: Arizona’s Impact on Yamamoto’s Work

At age 20, Yamamoto and her family were imprisoned at the Poston War Relocation Center in southern Arizona following the bombing of Pearl Harbor. This internment camp experience, filled with loss and hardship—including the death of her brother Johnny, who was killed in action while serving in the U.S. Army’s 442nd Regimental Combat Team—profoundly shaped her worldview and creative voice.

While incarcerated at Poston, Yamamoto worked for the Poston Chronicle, the camp’s newspaper, where she published fiction and reported on daily life. One of her earliest fictional works, the serialized mystery Death Rides the Rails to Poston, originated here and would later be included in her collected stories. These formative years at Poston solidified her role as both witness and chronicler of a dark chapter in American history.

Seventeen Syllables and Other Stories: An American Literary Classic

Yamamoto’s most famous work, Seventeen Syllables and Other Stories, was first published in 1988 by Kitchen Table: Women of Color Press and later expanded by Rutgers University Press. These stories, written over four decades, explore the emotional terrain of Japanese-American families, especially the women, whose voices were often silenced or ignored.

Among the best-known stories are:

“Seventeen Syllables” – exploring a Nisei girl’s romantic awakening alongside her mother’s struggle for artistic expression through haiku, and the oppression she faces at the hands of her husband.
“Yoneko’s Earthquake” – portraying a daughter’s discovery of her mother’s hidden relationship with a Filipino farmworker.
“The Legend of Miss Sasagawara” – set in the Poston internment camp, this story reveals the misunderstood inner life of a Buddhist priest’s daughter who appears mentally ill.
“The High-Heeled Shoes” – a memoir-style exploration of sexual harassment and gendered violence in mid-century America.

These stories center on the unspoken—on silences within families, internalized trauma, cultural estrangement, and the roles women are forced to play in both Japanese and American societies. Her style, often likened to haiku, is compressed, poetic, and powerfully understated.

Life Beyond the Page: Catholic Worker, Family, and Perseverance

After the war, Yamamoto wrote for the Los Angeles Tribune, an African-American newspaper, where she gained firsthand insight into the complex racial dynamics of postwar America. Her memoir “Fire in Fontana” recounts the Fontana Ku Klux Klan firebombing of a Black family’s home—another example of her commitment to social justice and racial equity.

In 1953, she declined a writing fellowship at Stanford to live and volunteer at a Catholic Worker rehabilitation farm in Staten Island, practicing the philosophy of voluntary poverty and activism. She married Anthony DeSoto in 1955 and raised five children in Los Angeles while continuing to write, despite struggling to find time as a full-time homemaker. She once remarked, “Very little time is spent writing. But if somebody told me I couldn’t write, it would probably grieve me very much.”

Recognition and Awards

Yamamoto’s writing gained national and international acclaim, though she often shied away from fame. Among her honors:

Before Columbus Foundation’s American Book Award for Lifetime Achievement (1986)
Association for Asian American Studies Award for Literature (1988)
Asian American Writers’ Workshop Lifetime Achievement Award (2010)
Best American Short Stories (1952) for “Yoneko’s Earthquake”

Her work has been widely anthologized and adapted, including the American Playhouse special Hot Summer Winds (1991), which brought her stories to a national television audience.

Legacy: A Voice for the Silenced

Hisaye Yamamoto’s work continues to resonate with readers exploring race, gender, and the immigrant experience. Her influence is felt not only in Asian American literature but across the broader landscape of American letters. Her stories are frequently taught in university courses on literature, ethnic studies, and women’s studies.

Her time at the Poston camp connects her to Arizona’s historical and literary legacy, and her influence can be felt in the poetry and prose of Arizona writers today, including tributes in programs like the Alzheimer’s Poetry Project and other works celebrating her contribution to memory, resilience, and voice.

Explore More from Hisaye Yamamoto

Hisaye Yamamoto’s life and work are a vital part of Arizona’s literary heritage. Visit her AZPoetry.com poet bio page to learn more about her stories, internment-era writing, and her indelible impact on American literature.

Running In A Red State poem by Cymelle Leah Edwards AZpoetry.com

Running in a Red State by Cymelle Leah Edwards

April 12, 2025

“Running in a Red State” by Cymelle Leah Edwards

Don’t be political.

Sinclair Wash Trail:

Anger is that which your body recognizes as alien; that which has been whittled nonexistent; you temper that emotion at the age of eight when you indulge it and learn that your angry is angrier because it’s also darker; when you serve a man who says he’ll take his coffee like you; standing phone-to-ear at the bus stop when a woman nearby interrupts to say, you have great diction; when he lets his dogs off their leashes as you jog past; in your sleep when this all happens again; you forget what it’s like to be angry until your larynx stiffens from singed resistance; from charred light curdling in the back of your throat.

Don’t sit on a fence.

Woody Mt. Road:

I tried to be both; tried to cinephile-file roles; tried to balance our budget; tried to sleep in my own bed; tried to re-create memories; to be in two places at once; to protract the hours in a day; tried to be honest anyway; tried to sit on my hands so they wouldn’t reach for her; tried to spell without vowels; tried to circumnavigate her body; tried to sorrel our walls; tried to pray it away; to run it away; tried to away; this is when I learned to splinter.

Saying nothing is saying something.

Fat Man’s Loop:

The dogs are off their leashes again, moments before I meet his path. I say to myself, don’t move over this time, let them move over. Let them disrupt their own PRs, mess up their own stride. Close enough to feel heat radiating off his jogging fluorescents, I inch to my right.

I can’t hear you.

Been dreaming about grandma lately, about running into her house after school and watching her rescue the princess on Nintendo classic. She was really good at being Mario, at moving through different worlds, at saving. I’d ask with my small voice can I play? She’d look at my school uniform covered in grass stains, my fingers sticky with the remnants of a pb&j. It’s hot right now, let the machine cool down. I’d wait thirty or so minutes which felt like hours, return to the living room, remove the cartridge and blow.

I could never make it through the underwater theme.

Not choosing is also a choice.

Buffalo Park:

They ride their bikes close so dirt kicks into my nostrils, they look back to watch me cough.

Silence speaks.

Walnut Canyon Ranch:

I learn to give her alfalfa pellets, to stretch my hand out flat, to pet her crest and say, that’s a good girl. I learn to stand parallel with her legs when removing her coat, to pat her bum before I unclip the left hook, to not bother with getting her to like me, she will never like me. I learn that naming a horse is an art. That it took Susan over a year to come up with “Yankee” and that she’s fine with it. I learn their names can’t be more than eighteencharacters, that I’ll never own Ubiquitouuuuuuuuus. I see the rope hanging in their front yard, chalk it up to a game for their grandkids, a tool to swing on. It is the noose at the end that makes me wonder if I should ever return to feed the horses. To find another subset of winona acreage to run through.

Say it, I dare you.

Downtown:

Sometimes, when we experience trauma, we build a boundary of invincibility. We think, the worst has already happened and I survived. At least, this is what I did and still try to fake. I was assaulted last August, seven days after moving to a new town. I knew the guy; we went to high school together. Erring-on-the-side-of-caution was fleeting. I relied on a mutually established sense of trust over four years old. I wrote poems about it, some of which are in the ether right now, being traipsed by cursors and sponged with the fingertips of a stranger. After this event, this uncanny eventuality, I stopped running. This had always been my way of shedding; through perspiration and escapism, I let trees and trail markers lead me through unnerving, undoing, and misremembering. Like most of the runners on my high school track team and those I met while briefly a part of a collegiate team in Seattle, it is our sustenance, theoretically as important as air itself. This, if you couldn’t tell, is written in the vein of writing’s most repudiated word, passion. Back then I was a sprinter, I hadn’t learned to appreciate great distances, pacing, stride, or breath. Sealed-off from the outside world with chain-link barriers, I also didn’t know what it was like to run without the protection of synthetic rubber keeping me from traversing a world unknown.

Forget about how hot it is. I don’t think about it. Running in Arizona is what it is. Hydrate, you’ll be fine. There are other dangers that lurk besides hyperthermia. Suburbs of Phoenix, like Gilbert or Casa Grande (maybe its own town and not a suburb), are mostly white communities. I grew up on the east side of Casa Grande. I built speed being chased by loose dogs in the neighborhood while walking to and from the bus stop. Apoplectic though they may have been, we understood we were helping one another out – me with learning to accelerate, them with their daily exercise. Is this what men with confederate flags billowing from the back of their F-150s believe too?

Who is this little black girl, and what is she running from?

Winning:

Winning a race used to involve medals, ribbons, clout.

Winning means punching code into my garage’s keypad, getting back. Winning is protracting, is living longer than yesterday.

About the poet Cymelle Leah Edwards

Summary and Analysis of “Running in a Red State” by Cymelle Leah Edwards

In “Running in a Red State”, Arizona-based poet Cymelle Leah Edwards crafts a poetic essay that powerfully intertwines personal memory, cultural identity, trauma, and resistance—both literal and figurative. The poem functions as a hybrid narrative, blending free verse, social commentary, and prose poetry with rich specificity of place, capturing scenes from Northern Arizona’s rugged trails to the subtle violence of everyday life in a politically conservative environment.

Structured as a series of meditations mapped across familiar trails like Sinclair Wash, Woody Mt. Road, Fat Man’s Loop, Buffalo Park, and Walnut Canyon Ranch, Edwards navigates what it means to run through a landscape that is at once physically beautiful and symbolically fraught. These trails aren’t merely places for physical movement—they become spaces of reflection, confrontation, survival, and reckoning.

Navigating Rage and Race

The poem opens with the assertion “Don’t be political”, only to dismantle that notion line by line. Edwards presents a litany of moments in which her Blackness is othered: a man making a racialized joke while ordering coffee, a woman praising her “diction” as if surprised, dogs unleashed in spaces where she runs, and the self-awareness that even anger—when expressed through a Black body—is perceived as more threatening. The poet confronts these aggressions with grace and measured defiance, describing them as embers, singed resistance, and “charred light curdling in the back of [her] throat.”

Queer Identity and Duality

On Woody Mt. Road, Edwards explores a layered identity with lines like, “tried to spell without vowels; tried to circumnavigate her body…” Here, she probes queer desire, the constraints of binary expectations, and the impossibility of fitting into a system that doesn’t accommodate complexity. In trying to “be both,” she introduces the metaphor of splitting—learning to “splinter”—and thus illustrates the emotional cost of existing in intersectional spaces that demand singularity.

The Silence of Compliance

At Fat Man’s Loop, the silence becomes palpable. The refusal to yield space—“don’t move over this time”—is itself a radical act. It represents a reclaiming of bodily autonomy and public space. The references to her grandmother playing Mario and saving princesses offer a tender respite from the poem’s heavier subjects. Yet even this nostalgic moment underscores her longing for safety, for someone to “rescue” her.

Violence, Trauma, and Recovery

In one of the most visceral sections—Downtown—Edwards speaks directly to her own trauma. “I was assaulted last August, seven days after moving to a new town.” With brave vulnerability, she recounts the emotional aftermath of sexual violence and the way it disrupted her sense of freedom. Running, once her method of release and healing, became unsafe. Here, Edwards captures the weight of trauma—how it rewires the body’s instincts, maps new caution into muscle memory, and alters a runner’s stride.

Running as Resistance

Despite these dangers, Edwards continues to run. She catalogs the subtle racism of white suburban Arizona—F-150s waving confederate flags, sideways glances, dirt kicked into her nostrils—and continues to find her rhythm.

“Winning is protracting, is living longer than yesterday.”

In this closing line, she redefines survival as success. Her poem is not just about running; it is about reclaiming space, healing, and moving forward through pain, oppression, and silence.

“Running in a Red State” is a poignant testimony to the lived experiences of a Black woman in Arizona, navigating identity, systemic racism, and resilience. Cymelle Leah Edwards’ voice is essential, powerful, and unflinching. Her ability to pair physical movement with emotional evolution makes this poem a landmark piece of Arizona literature.

👉 Learn more about Cymelle Leah Edwards on her AZPoetry.com poet bio page.

Ridin’ by Badger Clark

April 11, 2025

“Ridin'” by Badger Clark

There is some that like the city—
    Grass that’s curried smooth and green,
Theaytres and stranglin’ collars,
    Wagons run by gasoline—
But for me it’s hawse and saddle
    Every day without a change,
And a desert sun a-blazin’
    On a hundred miles of range.

    Just a-ridin’, a-ridin’—
        Desert ripplin’ in the sun,
    Mountains blue among the skyline—
        I don’t envy anyone
            When I’m ridin’.

When my feet is in the stirrups
   And my hawse is on the bust,
With his hoofs a-flashin’ lightnin’
   From a cloud of golden dust,
And the bawlin’ of the cattle
   Is a-comin’ down the wind
Then a finer life than ridin’
   Would be mighty hard to find.

    Just a-ridin’, a-ridin’—
        Splittin’ long cracks through the
            air,
    Stirrin’ up a baby cyclone,
        Rippin’ up the prickly pear
            As I’m ridin’.

I don’t need no art exhibits
    When the sunset does her best,
Paintin’ everlastin’ glory
    On the mountains to the west
And your opery looks foolish
    When the night-bird starts his tune
And the desert’s silver mounted
    By the touches of the moon.

    Just a-ridin’, a-ridin’—
        Who kin envy kings and czars
    When the coyotes down the valley
        Are a singin’ to the stars,
            If he’s ridin’?

When my earthly trail is ended
    And my final bacon curled
And the last great roundup’s finished
    At the Home Ranch of the world
I don’t want no harps nor haloes
    Robes nor other dressed up things—
Let me ride the starry ranges
    On a pinto hawse with wings!

    Just a-ridin’, a-ridin’—
        Nothin’ I’d like half so well
    As a-roundin’ up the sinners
        That have wandered out of Hell,
            And a-ridin’

About the poet Badger Clark

Summary and Analysis of “Ridin’” by Badger Clark (1922)

Badger Clark’s iconic poem “Ridin’,” first published in 1922, is a quintessential piece of American cowboy poetry that celebrates the untamed beauty of the West and the profound sense of freedom found in a life spent on horseback. Known for his vivid imagery and rhythmic lyricism, Clark paints a portrait of a cowboy’s existence—marked by wide-open landscapes, blazing sun, and the unshakable joy of “just a-ridin’.”

A Tribute to the Cowboy Life

The poem contrasts two ways of life: the modern, urban environment filled with “theaytres,” “wagons run by gasoline,” and “grass that’s curried smooth and green,” versus the raw, natural life of a cowboy. Clark rejects the luxuries and constraints of city life in favor of the harsh yet freeing reality of the range, where the sun scorches the horizon and one’s world stretches “a hundred miles” wide.

The repeated refrain—“Just a-ridin’, a-ridin’”—becomes a musical echo throughout the poem, reinforcing the spiritual simplicity and joy that comes from this nomadic lifestyle.

Wild Beauty and Rugged Romance

Each stanza highlights the elements of cowboy life that make it so appealing: the thrill of galloping across desert terrain, the natural artistry of a sunset, and the haunting songs of coyotes in the valley. Clark makes a compelling case for the cowboy as both adventurer and artist—one who finds meaning not in galleries or opera houses, but in the ever-shifting canvas of the sky and land.

The poem pulses with movement: horses “on the bust,” “hoofs a-flashin’ lightnin’,” and “long cracks through the air.” It’s kinetic, full of dust and thunder, but never chaotic. The landscape isn’t a backdrop—it’s a participant in the cowboy’s journey.

Spiritual Frontier

In the final stanza, Clark leans into the metaphysical, imagining his afterlife not with harps and halos, but with a “pinto hawse with wings” riding across “the starry ranges.” Even in eternity, the poet’s heaven is a wide-open range—where he can “round up sinners” with the same fierce joy he rode with on earth.

This blend of cowboy grit and spiritual longing places “Ridin’” in the tradition of American transcendental poetry, akin to Whitman’s celebration of the self and nature. But where Whitman wandered the forests, Clark’s domain is the high desert and the open plains.

A Lasting Voice of the West

“Ridin’” remains a definitive cowboy poem because it captures the soul of Western life—rugged, free, and unbound by convention. Its charm lies in both its musicality and its reverence for a vanishing way of life. In an era that was already becoming more industrial and urban, Badger Clark reminded readers that there’s still magic in a lone rider under a big sky.

Want to learn more about the poet who gave voice to the Western range?
Visit Badger Clark’s poet bio page on AZPoetry.com and explore his legacy as one of America’s original cowboy poets.

Sonnet 18 William Shakespeare poem AZpoetry.com

Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare

April 11, 2025

“Sonnet 18” by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

About the poem “Sonnet 18” by William Shakespeare

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

Few poems in the English language are as instantly recognizable as William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18. Opening with the iconic line, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”, this timeless love poem is part of Shakespeare’s 154-sonnet sequence, most of which are believed to have been written in the 1590s.

Summary of Sonnet 18

In this 14-line sonnet, Shakespeare praises the beloved’s beauty, comparing it favorably to a summer’s day. While summer may be lovely, it is fleeting—subject to rough winds, scorching heat, and an eventual decline into autumn. The speaker argues that the beloved’s beauty is more constant, more temperate, and immune to the decay that time brings to all things.

The poem concludes with the bold claim that the beloved will achieve immortality through the enduring power of verse:

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Analysis of Sonnet 18

A Celebration of Eternal Beauty Through Poetry

Shakespeare’s use of the sonnet form—a tightly structured 14-line poem with a rhyme scheme of ABAB CDCD EFEF GG—emphasizes both technical mastery and emotional intimacy. At its core, Sonnet 18 is a love poem, but it is also a declaration of art’s ability to preserve memory and beauty forever.

Where nature is cyclical and bound by time, poetry resists decay. The speaker elevates the beloved’s loveliness to something divine, untouchable, and timeless—not by denying mortality, but by using language to triumph over it.

Love Beyond the Season

Unlike the sometimes superficial comparisons in other love poetry of the time, Shakespeare subverts expectations. Rather than praising the beloved as “just like” a summer’s day, the speaker moves beyond that metaphor, arguing that the beloved surpasses summer. Summer fades—but the beloved’s “eternal summer shall not fade.” This conceptual shift turns what begins as a romantic gesture into a deeper reflection on permanence, art, and devotion.

Universal Emotion, Lasting Impact

Sonnet 18 remains one of Shakespeare’s most celebrated works because it speaks to something universal: the human desire to preserve what we love, to fight back against the tide of time, and to express deep emotion with precision and beauty. Its influence can be felt across centuries of poetry, including right here in Arizona’s contemporary love poems.

Explore More Love Poetry on AZPoetry.com

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 reminds us of the emotional power that love poems can carry—then and now. At AZPoetry.com, you’ll find a growing collection of love poems written by poets from across Arizona. Whether you’re looking for romance, heartbreak, longing, or joy, we invite you to discover how local voices are keeping the tradition of love poetry alive in the desert.

👉 Click here to explore Arizona Love Poetry ›

The Tiger by William Blake

April 11, 2025

“The Tiger” by William Blake

Tiger Tiger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water’d heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

About the poem “The Tiger” by William Blake

Summary of The Tiger

First published in 1794 as part of William Blake’s collection Songs of Experience, “The Tiger” (often modernized as “The Tyger”) is one of the most iconic and enduring poems in the English literary canon. The poem opens with the unforgettable line:

“Tiger Tiger, burning bright / In the forests of the night”

This vivid image sets the stage for a series of philosophical inquiries into the nature of creation, beauty, and terror. The speaker marvels at the tiger’s awe-inspiring presence, contemplating what kind of divine or immortal being could “frame thy fearful symmetry.”

Throughout the poem, Blake asks repeated questions—where the tiger’s fire came from, who dared to forge its sinews, what hammer or chain shaped its brain, and whether the same creator could have also made the gentle lamb. The poem ends with a slightly altered repetition of the opening lines, drawing attention to the tiger’s powerful mystery.

Analysis of The Tiger

Blake’s “The Tiger” is a profound meditation on the duality of existence—particularly the coexistence of beauty and danger, good and evil, innocence and experience. The tiger is a metaphor for something divine yet fearsome: a creature so perfectly made that its very existence forces the reader to question the nature of its creator.

The Question of Divine Intent

Blake questions not only how the tiger was created but why. Is the being who made the lamb—the symbol of innocence—also responsible for the tiger, a symbol of ferocity and destruction? This dualism aligns with the poet’s broader vision, contrasting Songs of Innocence with Songs of Experience, and challenging readers to think beyond simplified notions of good and evil.

Industrial Imagery

Lines like:

“What the hammer? what the chain, / In what furnace was thy brain?”

suggest a blacksmith’s forge, evoking images of industrial labor and craftsmanship. This metaphor may represent the creative process—or possibly, in a more existential interpretation, the brutal mechanisms of the universe or divine will. Blake’s use of such imagery also reflects early anxieties about the Industrial Revolution and humanity’s growing detachment from nature and spirituality.

Sound and Structure

Blake’s use of trochaic meter (a stressed syllable followed by an unstressed one) gives the poem a rhythmic, chant-like quality. The rhyming couplets make the poem feel almost like a nursery rhyme, heightening the contrast between its melodic form and its unsettling content. This contrast is essential to its power—it reads beautifully but asks terrifying, unanswerable questions.

Blake’s Legacy in Arizona Poetry

William Blake’s “The Tiger” has transcended centuries and cultures, continuing to inspire poets today—including those working in Arizona. The poem is notably referenced in Aaron Hopkins-Johnson’s “Alzheimer’s Poetry Project”, a piece that explores memory, identity, and language through intergenerational and literary lenses. The reference to Blake in this contemporary work speaks to the poem’s lasting relevance—especially its grappling with the mysteries of creation and perception.

Why William Blake Appears on AZPoetry.com

While William Blake never set foot in Arizona, his influence is echoed in the voices of modern Arizona poets. His questioning of divine order, poetic experimentation, and emotional complexity continue to inspire poets across the state. By including Blake in our Classic Poetry collection, we highlight the lineage of ideas that flow from great literary traditions into the creative currents of the Southwest.

Explore more classic poems referenced by Arizona poets and discover contemporary voices like Aaron Hopkins-Johnson, who draw on Blake’s influence in their own distinctive ways.

Bob Frost

April 11, 2025

Scottsdale’s First Official Poet Laureate and Cowboy Wordsmith

From Marine Corps to Master of Metaphor

Born to share a name with one of the most celebrated poets in American history, Bob Frost of Scottsdale, Arizona, found his own poetic path through life’s winding roads. His journey into poetry began with a high school English assignment, and over the years, his pen never stopped moving. Even during his time in the U.S. Marine Corps and throughout a successful professional career, Frost continued to write verse—capturing his experiences, observations, and reflections on life in rhythmic form.

After retiring in 1997, Frost revisited the growing collection of poetry he had amassed over decades. That decision culminated in the release of his debut book, A Sweet Place to Play, marking the start of his public journey as a poet.

A Cowboy Poet in the West’s Most Western Town

Frost’s poetic voice deepened after joining the Verde Vaqueros, a charitable riding group supporting the Boys and Girls Clubs of Greater Scottsdale. Inspired by the traditions of the American West, Frost began writing cowboy poetry—an art form rich in humor, grit, and heart. One of his poems won a cowboy poetry contest in Tombstone, Arizona, prompting the publication of his second book, Cowboy Poems about the Old West and New, in 2009.

Noticing that Scottsdale—branded “The West’s Most Western Town”—lacked an official cowboy poet, Frost approached then-Mayor Jim Lane with a proposal: to become the city’s poet laureate. Though the initial request didn’t yield an immediate response, Frost continued to build bridges with Scottsdale’s cultural community by reading poetry at city council meetings and public events.

After reading his poem A Cowboy’s Lament at a memorial for Councilman Tony Nelssen, the mayor responded. In that moment, Bob Frost officially became Scottsdale’s first poet laureate, a position he would hold with distinction for more than a decade.

Championing Poetry in the Community

During his 11-year tenure, Bob Frost made it his mission to bring poetry into everyday life in Scottsdale. He worked closely with the Scottsdale Center for the Arts and Scottsdale Public Library to organize workshops, literary events, and public readings. He also hosted several episodes of a poetry-themed show on Scottsdale’s municipal television channel, broadening his reach to residents throughout the valley.

One of his most beloved contributions was the Poetry Hike, held in the Phoenix Mountains Preserve. Participants hiked scenic desert trails, pausing every few hundred feet to share and reflect on poetry—blending physical activity with literary appreciation in a uniquely Arizonan fashion.

Frost was not just a poet but a facilitator of creative dialogue. He encouraged readers and writers of all ages to engage with poetry, leading by example with his generous spirit and relatable storytelling.

Poet Laureate Emeritus

In 2024, Frost stepped down from the role of Scottsdale Poet Laureate, passing the torch to the next voice in the city’s growing poetry legacy. He was honored with the title Poet Laureate Emeritus and invited to serve on the selection committee for the city’s new laureate.

Though no longer the official voice of poetry for Scottsdale, Frost continues to inspire through his published works, community involvement, and dedication to keeping the spirit of the West alive in verse.

The Men Who Don’t Fit In by Robert Service

April 11, 2025

“The Men Who Don’t Fit In” by Robert Service

There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.

They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they’re always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.

They say: “Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!”
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It’s the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.

And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that’s dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
He has just done things by half.
Life’s been a jolly good joke on him,
And now is the time to laugh.

Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
He was never meant to win;
He’s a rolling stone, and it’s bred in the bone;
He’s a man who won’t fit in.

About “The Men Who Don’t Fit In” by Robert Service

Summary, Analysis, and the Restless Spirit That Connects Him to Arizona Writers

Robert W. Service (1874–1958), often called “the Bard of the Yukon,” is remembered for his rollicking ballads, frontier storytelling, and vivid portrayals of wanderers, gamblers, and outcasts. Born in England and raised in Scotland, Service immigrated to Canada, where he worked as a banker and traveled extensively. He gained international fame for his poems about life during the Klondike Gold Rush, especially “The Shooting of Dan McGrew” and “The Cremation of Sam McGee.” Yet it is “The Men Who Don’t Fit In”—first published in his 1907 collection Songs of a Sourdough—that continues to resonate across generations, especially with readers who feel like outsiders to conventional life.

Like Arizona’s Edward Abbey, Service gave voice to the renegade, the dissenter, and the free-spirited wanderer. Both authors shared a deep suspicion of conformity and a romantic vision of those who follow their own rugged path—even when it leads to isolation.

📚 Poem Summary

“The Men Who Don’t Fit In” captures the restless soul who resists society’s expectations, choosing a life of wandering over stability. Service introduces us to “a race of men that don’t fit in,” individuals who, despite their strength and character, are driven by an unshakable urge to seek out the unfamiliar.

These men “roam the world at will,” climbing mountains and crossing oceans, always chasing a vague notion of fulfillment or purpose. Though they have potential—”strong and brave and true”—they are perpetually dissatisfied, believing they’re just one move away from finally finding their “proper groove.” Unfortunately, that next move often proves to be “only a fresh mistake.”

Over time, these men grow older, their youthful hopes slipping away until they’re left confronting the reality of unfulfilled potential. In the end, Service offers a bittersweet laugh and the acknowledgment that these men were “never meant to win”—not by the standards of a world that rewards steadiness, routine, and predictability.

🔍 Analysis: The Mythos of the Restless Outsider

At its core, “The Men Who Don’t Fit In” is a poetic portrait of the romantic wanderer—a figure equally celebrated and mourned. These men, often misunderstood by society, represent a type of individualism that refuses to be tamed. They have “the curse of the gypsy blood,” a metaphor for innate restlessness, an inherited trait that makes them incapable of settling down.

Service doesn’t condemn these men, but neither does he glorify them blindly. His tone is reflective, almost elegiac. The poem is a meditation on both the beauty and the cost of nonconformity. While society may view these individuals as failures—those who “just done things by half”—Service frames their choices as inevitable, even noble in their refusal to compromise.

This poem resonates especially deeply in the American West, where frontier mythology and the lone cowboy figure dominate cultural narratives. Arizona, in particular, has long attracted these “men who don’t fit in”—from miners and ranchers to artists, survivalists, and poets like Edward Abbey, who fiercely critiqued mainstream culture and government control, choosing instead a solitary existence in the redrock wilderness of southern Utah and Arizona.

🏜️ Robert Service and the Arizona Spirit

Although Robert Service never settled in Arizona, his work parallels many of the region’s most iconic literary voices. Like Abbey, Service writes about independence, isolation, and living deliberately on the margins. Both men saw poetry as a tool for giving voice to the misfits and rebels—the kind of people who ride alone into the desert, unbothered by convention or comfort.

In Abbey’s Desert Solitaire and The Monkey Wrench Gang, we meet similarly untamable characters who live outside the law and resist societal expectations. These are spiritual cousins to Service’s “Legion Lost.” They may never win medals or corporate promotions, but they live authentically—and that, for poets like Service and Abbey, might be the real definition of success.

✍️ Final Thoughts

“The Men Who Don’t Fit In” remains one of Robert Service’s most enduring poems not just because of its lyrical cadence, but because it speaks to something universal: the longing to be free, to wander, to reject the pressure to fit in. It’s a rallying cry for anyone who has ever felt out of place in the world—and a gentle reminder that, while this path is not easy, it is often true.

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

April 11, 2025

“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

About the poem “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost

A timeless meditation on choice, individuality, and reflection—by a poet who once visited Tucson’s Poetry Center.

Few American poems have captured the cultural imagination quite like Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.” First published in 1916 in his collection Mountain Interval, the poem explores the consequences of our choices and the paths we choose—or don’t choose—in life. With its evocative imagery and deceptively simple language, the poem has been quoted at graduations, weddings, and funerals, yet remains one of the most commonly misinterpreted works in American literature.

Frost, a four-time Pulitzer Prize winner, made a historic visit to the University of Arizona Poetry Center in Tucson in the early days of its founding. His reading there further cements his legacy and influence on the Southwest’s vibrant literary landscape. That connection is why Robert Frost is honored here on AZPoetry .com.

Summary of The Road Not Taken

The poem opens with the speaker arriving at a fork in a forest trail during autumn. Faced with two diverging paths, he regrets that he cannot travel both and must choose only one. He examines both roads and decides to take the one “less traveled by”—although he admits that the difference between the two was, in fact, minimal.

He acknowledges that he may never return to try the other path and imagines, in the future, how he will recall this moment “with a sigh,” claiming that choosing the road less traveled “has made all the difference.”

Analysis: What Does the Poem Really Mean?

At first glance, “The Road Not Taken” appears to celebrate individualism—the choice to forge one’s own path in life. However, Frost’s careful language suggests a more nuanced and even ironic meaning. The speaker admits that both roads were “really about the same,” undermining the idea that one was clearly less traveled. The “sigh” he foresees in the future is ambiguous—could it be regret? Nostalgia? Pride? All of the above?

Frost seems to be commenting not just on the choices we make, but on how we construct the stories of those choices later. The poem plays with the human tendency to create meaningful narratives from the accidents and ambiguities of life. It challenges the reader to question how much of our identity is shaped by decisions, and how much by how we later choose to interpret those decisions.

With its layered meanings, “The Road Not Taken” transcends time and context. It is at once deeply personal and profoundly universal.

Robert Frost’s Connection to Arizona

While Robert Frost is often associated with the rural landscapes of New England, his literary influence extended far beyond the Northeast. In fact, Frost visited the University of Arizona Poetry Center in Tucson, one of the nation’s most prestigious literary institutions. His appearance helped establish the Poetry Center’s early reputation as a magnet for major literary figures and laid the groundwork for Arizona’s enduring engagement with poetry.

Frost’s Tucson visit represents a bridge between classical American poetry and the poetic voices that would later emerge from the desert Southwest. His inclusion on AZPoetry.com honors that connection and his contributions to American letters.

Final Thoughts

“The Road Not Taken” continues to spark conversations about agency, memory, and the stories we tell ourselves about our lives. Whether you read it as a celebration of courage or a meditation on the illusion of choice, Frost’s poem remains one of the most enduring and enigmatic works in American poetry.

On His Blindness Sonnet 19 by John Milton baroque AZpoetry.com

On His Blindness by John Milton

April 10, 2025

“On His Blindness” or also known as “When I Consider How My Light Is Spent”

John Milton, published in 1673

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg’d with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

About the poem “On His Blindness” by John Milton

Summary and Analysis of “On His Blindness” by John Milton

John Milton’s poem “On His Blindness” is one of the most powerful meditations on human limitation, divine purpose, and the value of inner service. Written in the mid-17th century after Milton had gone completely blind, this sonnet remains a timeless work of spiritual and philosophical reflection. It is part of the public domain and frequently cited in contemporary literature—including in Aaron Hopkins-Johnson’s poignant poem “Alzheimer’s Poetry Project,” which draws from Milton’s central themes of patience, perception, and worth beyond ability.

Summary of “On His Blindness”

The poem opens with Milton contemplating his growing blindness, a devastating affliction for one of England’s greatest writers. He questions how he can continue to serve God without his vision, which he had long used in the service of poetry and scholarship. He worries that his “light is spent” and that his “one talent”—a reference to the Biblical parable of the talents—has been rendered useless. As he struggles with feelings of guilt and inadequacy, he wonders whether God demands labor from those who have been left with diminished capacity.

But in the poem’s famous volta (or “turn”), Milton finds resolution. He imagines a response from Patience, personified as a gentle counselor, who tells him that God does not need man’s work or gifts. Instead, what matters most is submission, faith, and readiness. The poem closes with the famous line: “They also serve who only stand and wait.”

Analysis of Themes and Meaning

“On His Blindness” is a masterful exploration of faith under trial. Milton uses the Petrarchan sonnet form—an eight-line octave followed by a six-line sestet—to mirror his internal struggle and ultimate spiritual epiphany. The first half of the poem is filled with doubt and sorrow, while the second half offers comfort, understanding, and divine perspective.

The poem’s central message is that usefulness is not always visible or tied to action. It is a radically inclusive idea for its time: that those who are suffering, limited, or incapacitated in some way are no less worthy or capable of spiritual fulfillment. Service, in Milton’s view, can be as simple and profound as waiting in trust and humility.

Milton’s use of Biblical allusions—from the Parable of the Talents to the Book of Job—grounds the poem in the Christian tradition, while his emotional honesty makes it universal. His fears about “that one talent which is death to hide” reflect an artist’s anguish about lost potential, but also the human experience of grief, aging, and changing identity.

Influence and Legacy

“On His Blindness” has remained a touchstone in English literature and continues to resonate with poets today. Its legacy is evident in modern poetic reflections on disability, aging, and patience—including Aaron Hopkins-Johnson’s poem “Alzheimer’s Poetry Project,” which indirectly references Milton’s final line. Hopkins-Johnson, in writing about the quiet labor of memory and the beauty found in slowing down with Alzheimer’s patients, echoes Milton’s idea that service and value are not always visible, but deeply present.

Why This Poem Belongs on AZPoetry.com

Milton’s “On His Blindness” provides essential context for understanding the moral and poetic traditions that shape contemporary Arizona writers. Referenced in modern poems by local authors like Aaron Hopkins-Johnson, its influence stretches across time, geography, and form. As part of our Classic Poetry collection, it stands not only as a literary landmark but as a bridge connecting today’s poets with the enduring questions that have long fueled poetic expression.

Learn more about how Arizona poets carry forward the legacy of classic verse by exploring the AZPoetry.com poet bio for Aaron Hopkins-Johnson.