We are desperately in need of a collective vision of what it means to love our homes.

President Carter showed what was possible when people came together for a cause and acted out of decency.

That which we most value is often that which most frequently slips into dull repetition.

One might think that after forty-four years of writing these Sabbath poems, Berry would run out of things to say. But it seems that as long as the trees continue their silent conversion of light to soil, as long as the sun and the moon endure, as long as he has life and breath, Berry will continue his acts of Sabbath praise.

There’s little appetite for a response that begins with taking up our axes to clear the land for something better.

Whenever we see such an avoidance of questions like these, we are witnessing someone protecting an ideological dream world.

If classical schools insist on banning AI in all forms, their kids will be left behind.

Poetry must be experienced, and the experience of poetry is itself a means of searching, a kind of hunting, for wisdom.

We can gain something from the Ike Carters and the student DJs of our communities: a human connection, a community connection—not to mention great music.

Rituals are our allies in sorrow. They help us appreciate what brief time we had with our loved ones while acknowledging the years we will face without them.

Like Mary and all Israel waiting for the Messiah, like a mother welcoming a child, we are to “wait for it with patience.”