Nathan Coppedge

Rookie - 206 Points [Eucaleh Terrapin] (10/23/1982 / New Haven, CT)

Biography of Nathan Coppedge

Nathan Coppedge poet

[POEMS AND QUOTES BY NATHAN COPPEDGE]

Main website at NATHANCOPPEDGE.COM. Feel free to browse quotes here, which are also searchable on my blog (link for which can be found at the website) , as well as recent poems.

I also have a selection of spiritual writings in video form on youtube (the link to the videos is on my webpage) .

I was raised in a family which attended a non-denominational Unitarian Universalist church, one of two sons of divorced parents, in New Haven, CT. My father is an academic, and my mother has been a housewife and a nurse after earning a history degree.

I'm a philosopher, artist, inventor, and poet in some capacity. I have a website on perpetual motion machines- -perhaps my biggest claim to fame. I also write books on philosophy, in particular objective and coherent knowledge systems. Poetry has been one of my hobbies since I took classes on poetry in high school.

I consider myself to be an Urban Romantic poet. I'm modern with classical roots. I'm influenced by Roethke's theory of stressed syllables, Dickinson's energetic abstraction, Coleridge's 'sense' for sentences, and Blake's imagery. I have published a variety of books, including the poetry books listed below. I also have been quoted in Book Forum and the Hartford Courant in relation to philosophy, and I am a member of the International Honor Society for Philosophy.

I have high-quality poems, so please READ instead of just viewing my profile. I also have a wide variety of quotes I have written over the years, so one option is just to view the quotes page.

Nathan Coppedge's Works:

The Old Incantations: or, Sorcery in the Dark (2014)
Poems by God (2014)
Creeping Cadence and Cadence Continues (2013)
Inverse Threads (2004,2005)

PoemHunter.com Updates

'Swing'

Under the preponderant clouds
wishing mist on the outskirts of cities
The crowd roves and raves
Speaking with the hearts of dead men

Wheezy with their instruments,
the black satin leaves them standing on
their own
besmirched with a sticky forgetfulness

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