Chris Abraham

The Unborn by Sharon Olds: I don't know if I will ever have children. If I will ever be a parent. Sometimes a feel a longing. Sometimes I feel a lack. I probab;ly won't. It's not looking good.
Located in Lit
Sex Without Love by Sharon Olds: Maybe I have been hobbled by growing up Catholic or putting women on pedestals because of all-boys school. But I have never swiped left or right on Tinder. I am no choir boy. I have had more than my fair share. But going through lovers has never been the way I have ever passed my time. It's neither sport nor a source of story or content. I feel like Sharon Olds gets my feelings perfectly right.
Located in Lit
Satan Says by Sharon Olds: Being exposed to the profane done artfully and in a way that shows the humanness innate in blasphemy and heresy. This poem, by poet Sharon Olds, from her book Satan Says, was one of those experiences. That and The Pope's Penis, another of her poems.
Located in Lit
I Sing the Body Electric by Walt Whitman: On the celebration of the 200th anniversary of America's bard, here's to Walt Whitman, America's poet.
Located in Lit
O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman: On the 200th year of his death, Walt Whitman's most popularly famous poem.
Located in Lit
Song of Myself, V by Walt Whitman: "Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat," is one of my favorite lines of poetry.
Located in Lit
Song of Myself, XI by Walt Whitman: One of Walt Whitman's most innocently sensual poems indeed.
Located in Lit
Song Of Myself, XXIV by Walt Whitman: This poem contains one of my favorite stanzas, "Unscrew the locks from the doors! / Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs! / Whoever degrades another degrades me, / And whatever is done or said returns at last to me."
Located in Lit
The Pure Contralto Sings In The Organ Loft by Walt Whitman: I don't know why I remember it, but the line, "the pure contralto sings in the organ loft," seared itself into my brain—maybe because "contralto" was a new word to me.
Located in Lit
Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking by Walt Whitman: What a wonderful song, what a wonderful poem, from Walt Whitman, heralding the Summertime.
Located in Lit

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