John Mitchell

I can trace my love for reading and writing poetry back to my earliest days listening to my parents read the Psalms to me as a child. And to my parents, I owe a great debt. 
August 12, 2026

Poem: Him Who Is Without Sin

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August 11, 2026

Poem: The Searchers

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August 4, 2026

Poem: Abdullah Ibrahim, Who Mixed Activism And Jazz, Dies at 91

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August 1, 2026

Poem: David Plowden, Who Photographed a Disappearing America, Dies at 93

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July 31, 2026

Poem: Prayer Walk

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July 31, 2026

Poem: Hoyle Schweitzer, 93, Who Took Windsurfing to Masses on Flat and Choppy Water

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July 31, 2026

Poem: Alan Greenspan, Fed Chairman Through Prosperity and Crisis, Dies at 100

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July 28, 2026

Poem: On the Boulevard by My Restaurant

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July 23, 2026

Poem: The Fulcrum

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July 21, 2026

Poem: The Blind Date

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July 17, 2026

Poem: Her Table

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July 14, 2026

Poem: Frank Lloyd Wright

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July 12, 2026

Poem: The Slayton Community Band in the Dutch Festival Parade

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July 12, 2026

Two More Poems from NYT Obituary

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July 10, 2026

Two of Four Poems from NYT Obituaries

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July 4, 2026

Poem: A Century

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March 26, 2026

Poem: Another Restaurant Interview

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March 26, 2026

Poem: Man's Best Friend

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March 6, 2026

Poem: Retreating

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March 5, 2026

Poem: Patchwork

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February 27, 2026

Poem: In South Georgia

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February 23, 2026

Poem: Sourdough

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February 23, 2026

Poem: Life is Like a Game of Catch

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February 17, 2026

Poem: They Look Like Trees, Walking

See Mark 8:24
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February 17, 2026

Poem: Remembering

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December 25, 2025

Christmas Poem Published in Solid Food Press

Out In Their Field https://www.solidfoodpress.com/post/out-in-their-field Merry Christmas!
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December 13, 2025

Poem: Manhunt

Manhunt or The Search That Follows -For Charlie You can see them distant stares, half-hearted yawns as each ponders which lead to chase next; how to find who did this. Cigarette smoke floats horizontally across the room around the chin and cheekbones of their unshaven faces.
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December 13, 2025

Poem: Day Labor

Day Labor His mud spattered black jeans hug the shaft of his leather boots as he stands with one hand on his hip one hand on the pump, filling up his two door square body truck, dented and paint scratched from a thousand jobs and the forgotten miles between them. He knocks his boots against steel running boards, red clay falling off in...
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December 3, 2025

Poem: Nursery Stakes

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December 3, 2025

Poem: On Nearing the End of My 29th Year

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