I wanted to write poetry almost a little more than I wanted to eat. Paul Engle eatpoetrywant Change image and share on social
The corncob was the central object of my life. My father was a horse handler, first trotting and pacing horses, then coach horses, then work horses, finally saddle horses. I grew up around, on, and under horses, fed them, shoveled their manure, emptied the mangers of corncobs. Paul Engle centralcoachcorncob share on social
Our small ears never had such a workout as on the Fourth of July, hearing not only our own bursting crackers but also those of our friends, and often the boom of homemade cannon shot off by daring boys of 16 years, ready to lose a hand if it blew up. Paul Engle blowboomboy share on social
I began to write poetry in high school, and would ride miles over sandy roads in the fine hills around Cedar Rapids, repeating the lines over and over until I had them right, making some of the rhythm of the horse help. Paul Engle begincedarfine share on social
The sharpest memory of our old-fashioned Christmas eve is my mother's hand making sure I was settled in bed. Paul Engle bedchristmaseve Change image and share on social
