Sharon Olds

(November 19, 1942 / San Francisco)

Sharon Olds Poems

1. The Flurry 5/27/2015
2. Toth Farry 9/15/2015
3. The Month of June: 13 1/2 9/15/2015
4. The Wedding Vow 10/13/2015
5. The Knowing 4/3/2015
6. The Death of Marilyn Monroe 6/12/2015
7. Sex Without Love 6/24/2016
8. Unspeakable 5/27/2015
9. True Love 1/5/2016
10. Her First Week 11/28/2014
11. My Son The Man 1/7/2015
12. Voices 11/19/2011
13. The Pact 11/19/2011
14. Still Life In Landscape 11/19/2011
15. I Could Not Tell 11/19/2011
16. Topography 11/19/2011
17. I Go Back To May 1937 11/19/2011
18. The Ferryer 1/20/2003
19. The Space Heater 1/13/2003
20. Take The I Out 1/20/2003
21. The Sash 1/13/2003
22. One Year 1/13/2003
23. The Mortal One 1/13/2003
24. The Daughter Goes To Camp 1/13/2003
25. Crab 1/13/2003
26. Japanese-American Farmhouse, California, 1942 1/20/2003
27. Primitive 1/13/2003
28. May 1968 1/20/2003
29. The Borders 1/13/2003
30. The Clasp 1/13/2003
31. A Week Later 1/13/2003
32. 1954 1/13/2003
33. The End 1/13/2003
34. The Victims 1/7/2004
35. The Unborn 1/13/2003

Comments about Sharon Olds

  • Hannah Jolley (2/28/2016 12:08:00 PM)

    What are the literary devices in this poem, and some examples of them? Please help.

    3 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Bill Grace (1/16/2012 11:01:00 PM)

    This woman haunts me and I have never met her! But here are four of her book titles: The Unswept Room, The Dead and the Living, Satan Says, Blood, Tin, Straw She is frankly an indictment of the Poemhunter site because there is no word of which she is afraid. We had her Sex without Love on our front page (Poemhunter) and this has been lost. She has taught me to be a little less afraid and a little more honest in my writing. Well worth an investment of any sort. Bill Grace in San Antonio, Texas

  • Judy Meibach Judy Meibach (5/1/2010 5:28:00 PM)

    I have heard a lot about Sharon Olds lately - I would like to listen to her speak or to read - her poem 1954 evoked so many feelings in me - I really loved it - and would like to read more as I could understand her better.

  • Pilar Mogollon Pilar Mogollon (1/12/2009 4:43:00 AM)

    Sharon Olds is absolutely brilliant, her letter to Laura Bush was poetry itself, and honest and I am so glad she refused to break bread with them. I wonder who publishes her poems here, I would like to see the poem Language of the Brag.

  • Robert Casady (10/25/2006 5:32:00 PM)

    I appreciate Ms. Olds' right to have an opinion, but she should do some research: it is not 'Bush's war', it was approved by Congress; the facts behind the decision were documented by virtually every country in the world; WMD were found, by the way. She obviously sees the good in people, but needs to also see the 'bad' in people.... those who are trying to kill us. I know she did not want 9/11, but what does she suggest to stop it from happening again? Does she prefer to see Americans die rather than torture a terrorist who kills women and children. She needs to come down out of her ivory tower.

  • Carol Kambanis (11/15/2005 2:54:00 AM)

    Oh, THANK YOU, thank you for not attending the affair w Laura Bush as an example of discontent with the war in Iraq! ! ! This whole thing is NOT the America I love and have always respected.

  • Jillanne Foster (1/9/2005 7:35:00 PM)

    Sharon Olds awoke me from the buzz of background noise. Yes, there is a poet who sees through more than just their eyes and ears. I let out the sigh for all who feel more.

  • Shahadatur Rahman Sohel (12/28/2004 9:02:00 AM)

    I Like This Website Very Much & This Poem Also

Best Poem of Sharon Olds

The Unborn

Sometimes I can almost see, around our heads,
Like gnats around a streetlight in summer,
The children we could have,
The glimmer of them.

Sometimes I feel them waiting, dozing
In some antechamber - servants, half-
Listening for the bell.

Sometimes I see them lying like love letters
In the Dead Letter Office

And sometimes, like tonight, by some black
Second sight I can feel just one of them
Standing on the edge of a cliff by the sea
In the dark, stretching its arms out
Desperately to me.

Read the full of The Unborn

One Year

When I got to his marker, I sat on it,
like sitting on the edge of someone's bed
and I rubbed the smooth, speckled granite.
I took some tears from my jaw and neck
and started to wash a corner of his stone.
Then a black and amber ant
ran out onto the granite, and off it,
and another ant hauled a dead
ant onto the stone, leaving it, and not coming back.

[Report Error]