Edie Meade

Two children sit at the edge of a field beside a river at sunset.

A wild plant seeding with sun shining golden behind it

What it's all about.

They are! Snappy comebacks are an eternal temptation.

I love that I can see your good parenting as well as that... other parenting, of the place, maybe, coming through.

Old yellow painted brick building with other brick houses, set against a vibrant purple cloud cover.

A beautiful gloom. The peepers are awake at the river. I thought you should know.

What Elon Has Done Elon Musk's destruction of USAID has faded from public consciousness in America, despite leaving death and destruction in its wake.

"500 metric tons of high-energy food, intended for child refugees in Afghanistan and Pakistan under the age of five, were incinerated, as were ten million dollars of contraceptives"

“Fix your hearts and live.”

Screenshot of archived webpage featuring a Kiss Kasket, a fully functional novelty casket decorated with Kiss rock band logo and band members' faces, once for sale on the band's official website.

But what if we drank beers together out of a Kiss Kasket?

Poem titled February 14, by Edie Meade: February 14 I lay on the floor trying to unhear screams, the city screaming into its elbows to stifle what it knows. The neighbors rise fighting, and I’m afraid to seek answers to the questions I have. Google, can AR-15 bullets pierce a brick wall? How do hiding mothers keep their children quiet? Is the screaming in my middle ear or a fold of nervous tissue? Is it me? Is it only me? Car doors slam and engines ignite and I remain on the floor, keeping close to the world without beds, those born and born again shivering pink each morning waiting to receive spring’s augurs. Geese shadows labor over the window so low I hear their wings threshing. None cry out.

Happy Valentine's Day from the floor where we witness troubles. Here is a poem I wrote one year ago, published in @oneart.bsky.social 💖

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All flights to and from El Paso, Texas, have been grounded for ten days for “Special Security Reasons”, the Federal Aviation Administration announced.

Shutting down airspace of a major US city for such an extended period hasn’t happened since the aftermath of 9-11.

Fantastic! Congratulations! 🥳

Three Poems by Edie Meade Coming Storm fleeced inside the cell, undefined violence flashes purple. still chain-smoking on his balcony as windows close for bed, the new neighbor, a slapping flag, a Marine retiree vanity plat…

“… I shell shells, terns turn
over a pink plastic carnation decoy
bright as sushi, what once was
a revolution, plastic, now an island

in a vortex visible from space”

Two-star Hotel, Myrtle Beach + 2 by @ediemeade.bsky.social in @oneart.bsky.social oneartpoetry.com/2026/02/08/t...

Thanks for sharing, Pat! (And how was I not following you here??? Hi!) 💖

💖

I have to say I think regularly about your comment on Bowie's "juvenilia," and it helps me keep working without feeling embarrassed of where I started. I hope your book finds the light.

Three Poems by Edie Meade Coming Storm fleeced inside the cell, undefined violence flashes purple. still chain-smoking on his balcony as windows close for bed, the new neighbor, a slapping flag, a Marine retiree vanity plat…

All three poems are here:
oneartpoetry.com/2026/02/08/t...

Thanks so much for publishing my pieces. You were my first acceptance of the new year and set me off running after a long drought. 💛

Coming Storm, a poem by Edie Meade

On a beach hotel boardwalk, a neon sign lit up "Yes," with unilluminated "no" visible behind it.

I have three new poems out today at @oneart.bsky.social, one of the most supportive publications out there in this hard old world. Thanks so much to One Art editors Mark Danowsky and Louisa Schnaithmann for my first publication of 2026. Proof I can take "yes" for an answer!

It honestly doesn't matter whether he's aware, whether he gets something or not. He's the president. It's like saying GWB wasn't guilty of war crimes because he was dumb.

I love pulp paperbacks. I still forage the thrift stores for cheap classics and unknown gambles. They pass through my hands into the little free libraries, and on and on, living again.

I liked it when the spines broke to the spicy bits after a few reads 😂

When my older brother got his first job at a Kroger's, the first thing he bought with every paycheck was a pulp paperback off the rack. We all read them with relish.

Despicable. We need a new Nuremberg.

Prickly pear cactus covered in ice and water droplets. City street with brick rowhouse out of focus in the background

Me? Oh, just hanging around.

Live Inside the Burn [American sonnet in American sentences] by Edie Meade   Pressed on through a drift of Styrofoam pebbles on my way to the beach. Felt like crying but didn’t; cranked the radio to live with the burn. Live inside the burn. The sky is acid-was...

Stone Circle #ThrowbackThursday poem : "Live Inside the Burn [American sonnet in American sentences]" by Edie Meade (@ediemeade.bsky.social) #TBT

stonecirclereview.com/live-inside/

Josh O’Connor on crying, Just Stop Oil and The Mastermind Director Kelly Reichardt’s latest film, released days after a high-profile robbery at the Louvre, stars Josh O’Connor as a hapless thief attempting to steal a clutch of priceless artworks

www.dazeddigital.com/film-tv/arti...

Actor Josh O'Connor interviewed by Dazed Digital: "The people outraged about that are often people who cuts arts funding."

"The people outraged about [climate protesters symbolically defacing art] are often people who cuts arts funding."

Israel has just arrested Greta Thunberg and many others.

Statement from the Global Sumud Flotilla:

“People of conscience have been abducted. The flotilla broke no laws. What is illegal is Israel’s genocide, Israel’s illegal blockade of Gaza, and Israel’s use of starvation as a weapon.”
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You must go in quest of yourself, and you will find yourself again only in the simple and forgotten things. Why not go into the forest for a time, literally? Sometimes a tree tells you more than can be read in books…

— Carl G. Jung, Letters, Vol. 1