Stormborn: A Poem Peter, come out of the clouds. You fly too high. The virtues of the ground outweigh reaching for the crib. Born of the...

I've decided February is Poetry Month on the ryanctittle.com blog. Seems an appropriate month. It brings out romance for some, sadness...

At a bachelor party in the prairies. Here for my friend’s wedding. I have nothing in common with these men in uniform, but am happy to be...

I find myself often at a loss as to what publishers of poetry and drama want these days. I’m told the subjects to which I’ve always been...

Yes, I am a poet (playwright), two hundred years too late… I was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck, choking me. When I...

This week, I’ll catch us up on two weeks of rehearsal as the opening date of Waiting for Godot at BFT barrels toward us. Week 3 It is a...

I am so excited to announce that a poem of mine, "The Rain Dance," has won 2nd Prize in Blue Institute's Words on Water Writing Contest...

This work contemplates, albeit in a slightly deranged way, the events of protest in the United States in the years 2016-2019. It makes no...

No explanation. Four poems. For AJ. Cheers. Abuse she stood above him, dragging the heel across his chest (which blushed). Identity Tell...

Something a little different today: a video recitation of my new poem, "Descent to Timon's Cave."

Two devotional poems, in honor of St. Patrick's Day. The first is freely translated from the Latin. The second, freely translated from...

There are things you assume you know— the waves of emotion, the choice of conflagration or inhumation, the cavern in your heart. But...

I can remember being as young as six and needing books around me constantly, though I wasn't sure I could read well. I liked books, the...

For the next few weeks, I'll be sharing my favorite works of art. These are not necessarily my answers to "What is the best movie/tv...

From age 13 to 17, I was a church musician and I often miss it. It's not every adult choir director who would let a teenager play in his...

Upon the death of Loretta Lynn, I was reminded of a project I set out on many years ago to write dedicatory poems to great legends of...

This summer poem was written based on several photographs in family albums. The sickly sweet smell of ground water, George Jones singing...