Annabelle Moseley is an award-winning poet, author, professor and speaker. Author of nine books, her most recent is a double volume of poetry entitled: A Ship to Hold the World and The Marionette's Ascent (Wiseblood Books, 2014). Moseley was the 2009-2010 Walt Whitman Birthplace Writer-in-Residence. In 2014, she was named Long Island Poet of the Year, an award honoring excellence in writing and teaching. Her novel manuscript, Red Bird, was one of ten finalists for the 2014 Tuscany Prize in Catholic Literature.Read More…
Annabelle Moseley Interviewed by WABC-TV
The New York Times features Annabelle Moseley
Oprah.com features Moseley’s poem “Breakable”
A Ship to Hold the World Forthcoming from Wiseblood Books
Each poem in Annabelle Moseley’s A Ship to Hold The World can be described as Dramatic Monologue meets Midrash…
Moseley in The Nervous Breakdown
The Nervous Breakdown features Moseley’s Mirror Sonnet, “Potiphar Tees Off” along with a self-interview.
Moseley reads her “Cain at the Potter’s Wheel” for Able Muse
Able Muse Review vol. 14 (Winter 2012) is published on-line, featuring a double sonnet by Annabelle Moseley
The Delaney : Journey to Banba
The Divine Tour
“The Divine Tour: Poems by Annabelle Moseley” now available from Finishing Line Press
Moseley Wins NYCH Project Grant to Continue “The Spirituality of Poetry”
Moseley continues her workshop series with “The Spirituality of Poetry: God-Quest”, starting Sept. 30th at the Walt Whitman Birthplace.
The Clock of the Long Now makes Poetry Foundation Best-Seller List
Annabelle Moseley’s The Clock of the Long Now has made it to the top 10 of the Poetry Foundation’s Best-Seller List for Contemporary Poetry for the week of July 15, 2012.
Litany in Praise of Italian Cuisine
The food I ate in Italy deserves a litany of praise.
An art unto itself, it satisfied so deeply
I expected to rise each morning cured of hunger—
forgetting hunger, like longing, is a ritual.
The Tuscan Countryside
Drive as a passenger through Tuscany,
and even if you squint
or fall asleep, but catch brief glances
through curtained blinks,
Da Vinci’s Drawing
In the Venetian Accademia,
I stood quietly
before a study of flowers—
their bends and curls precise,
examined.