The Rape Crisis Center of Medina and Summit Counties is hosting a poetry night on April 24, from 6 to 8 p.m. in the Taber Student Union atrium to give survivors of sexual assault a voice and people a chance...

Women’s Studies is scheduled to hold two more Rethinking Gender talks before the end of the spring semester, according to their events page. With the emergence of Five-Star Fridays, students should...

What makes poetry, poetry? Ask that question of a dozen poets, scholars or readers and you’ll get as many different answers, maybe more. Some won’t be much help: “Poetry is the sort of thing...

Editor's Note: The writer would like to clarify that the contents of this article were originally written several years ago for poetic purposes only. The following poem does not necessarily represent...

Sounds cascade my mind; Through my ears they reach, Music’s beauty is one of a kind. Comfort in them I find, The noise never bleak, Sounds cascade my mind. Skillfully written notes in line, Illiterate...

“I never got poetry,” someone says to me again. And I sigh. Because I never got it either—at least, not until I learned to stop worrying about “getting it.” In fact, “get”—with its connotation...

I close my eyes and breathe deeply. The lavender, the grass, the lilies, everything. The wind blows gently across it making it dance, Rippling the tall grass as it goes and blowing my hair along with...

When does it stop His never-ending ride Pulling ahead Yet never making a stride He cannot please When does it cease Stuck in a never-ending loop loop loop Below him the lights twinkle and dance in...

There’s supposed to be a full moon tonight, they said. There’s supposed to be blood in the moon they said. There’s blood inside me but that doesn’t make me a marvel to look at either. Well...

I know it is coming. All the signs are there, all the warning bells and flashing claxons: “WARNING! WARNING! PREPARE FOR IMPACT!” I feel my gut clench and my palms start to sweat, and I wipe them preemptively...

The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice. Too white for the blacks, too black for the whites. A constant feeling of you having to choose. Stop denouncing my identity and roots. Though...

This is a love story. This is the story that led me here, writing to you about how and why I fell in love with poetry, and what I think you can find there, too. No story ever gets love—or life—quite...

“I, too, dislike it.” -Marianne Moore, “Poetry” But you don’t hate it. At least that’s what I hope you’ll discover as you read this column. I don’t want to convince you that you should...