An audio recitation of Robert Browning's "Porphyria's Lover."

The leaves and acorns fall and leave a densely populated gram on the cemented places that should still be nature places. The weather is...

As you read this, we are in the second day of summer, a season I appreciate (for all the life, the beauty, the cooling pool outside, the...

They said it was bad and my decision to come saved my life. Ten and a half hours in the emergency room, I spoke maybe a few words to my...

Special to the Blog: a little late, but still within "the week." A few down-to-earth, blue collar poems. Enjoy! Raised Right We are...

It's been nice sharing some poetry with you this month. If it's not been your thing, I'm sorry. I'll be back in March with more new...

A little belated St. Valentine's Day present-- some legitimate love poems, not my usual unrequited odes. Love one another. Some of these...

Stormborn: A Poem Peter, come out of the clouds. You fly too high. The virtues of the ground outweigh reaching for the crib. Born of the...

I've decided February is Poetry Month on the ryanctittle.com blog. Seems an appropriate month. It brings out romance for some, sadness...

At a bachelor party in the prairies. Here for my friend’s wedding. I have nothing in common with these men in uniform, but am happy to be...

Yes, I am a poet (playwright), two hundred years too late… I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck, choking me. When I...

This week, I’ll catch us up on two weeks of rehearsal as the opening date of Waiting for Godot at BFT barrels toward us. Week 3 It is a...

I am so excited to announce that a poem of mine, "The Rain Dance," has won 2nd Prize in Blue Institute's Words on Water Writing Contest...

Something a little different today: a video recitation of my new poem, "Descent to Timon's Cave."

Two devotional poems, in honor of St. Patrick's Day. The first is freely translated from the Latin. The second, freely translated from...

There are things you assume you know— the waves of emotion, the choice of conflagration or inhumation, the cavern in your heart. But...

This summer poem was written based on several photographs in family albums. The sickly sweet smell of ground water, George Jones singing...