Sharon Olds

(November 19, 1942 / San Francisco)

Sharon Olds Poems

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

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.

    4 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

The Sash

The first ones were attached to my dress
at the waist, one on either side,
right at the point where hands could clasp you and
pick you up, as if you were a hot
squeeze bottle of tree syrup, and the
sashes that emerged like axil buds from the
angles of the waist were used to play horses, that
racing across the cement while someone
held your reins and you could feel your flesh

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