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poetry: results 601–624 of 735

A Solar Flare Is Expected  by MARY-CATHERINE FERGUSON

Not the northern lights or the atom's first splitting.

Not the backyard, the tree, or the fence.

Ladybugs landed all day in everyone's hair,

An invasion.

La Famille  by JOSHUA COREY

2 June 2004
Vol. 4, No. 2

water & earth give birth

to these successors'

wisp of dirt, dusk

from The Constraints of Architecture  by ADAM CLAY

2 June 2004
Vol. 4, No. 2

A longing lives inside the mind: both to be in the past

Where we weren't, but also to be the person

We are in the present living in that unrealized past. The moon

Is a paint bucket on its side. The moon is…

from The Constraints of Architecture  by ADAM CLAY

2 June 2004
Vol. 4, No. 2

Can't see the field for the easel. Sometimes the easel

Is a mirror and you're fixing your hair. Sometimes this eddy

Of air carries the canvas into the woods, the tongue of a bear

In your pocket. Chasing it, you stop and think…

Spring Ranch, Nebraska  by SARAH VAP

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1
prose poem

We find his hair in dried paint, then plant cattails to hide the corn. Inhaling and spitting out gnats she says that by the end he couldn't swallow, choked on spit.

Meditations in the Garden of the Blind (with Whitman's Specimen Days)  by JOSHUA POTEAT

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

The rain subtracts

                             from the landscape

              the light it needs to become whole.

Meditations in Desert Snow  by JOSHUA POTEAT

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

Snow, Snow, I'm in love with the dead,

              with this white and broken air—


Without stars there is nothing to keep you

              from slowing the sky.

Meditation on the Sorting that Evens Things Out  by JOSHUA POTEAT

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

You see? If you're picking apples,

              it is pointless to watch the sky,

to sort each starry feather

                            that falls from its transparent perch.

Meditation for Everything We Have Loved  by JOSHUA POTEAT

What do you love the most?

      Say the reddish work of death

as it strolls through the fields…

Visiting Hours  by JON PINEDA

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

Days we spend in shifts,

gaze out the window

onto drifts of snow.

Love Glazes Streets and Makes the Trees Glisten  by DAMON MCLAUGHLIN

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

What breaks is threatening.

Even the cat with its small growl

backs away…

The Killing of Frank O'Hara  by CHARLES JENSEN

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

In other countries, he's a martyr

drawn heavy over the shoulders of sobbing women

on a long silver plate. The rebel forces…

Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer  by CHARLES JENSEN

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

At first there was nothing:

just audiences whacked mouth-dumb

at talking pictures, Jolson singing.

Teeth  by ARACELIS GIRMAY

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

Two sisters ride down with us

to Massawa's liberation celebration.


One sister is the color of injera; her teeth are big and stuck-out.

One sister is a cinnamon stick.

Cyclops Mary Down the Avenue, A Monologue  by ARACELIS GIRMAY

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

Yeah, I heard it.

Saw the whole thought form

from out the back of his head,

then take shape into one lust-musty sentence.

Cyclops Mary  by ARACELIS GIRMAY

If Cyclops Mary heard it.

If that sentence flew clean into the ear.

If the whole thing traveled pure,

unrustled by the pigeons.

from Severance Songs  by JOSHUA COREY

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

Stand back! Back to the potter's field,

dark hillocks signifying darkly

what glares in the redrawn screen.

from Severance Songs  by JOSHUA COREY

I will wander afield as you shall pace a plot

made similar by the action of our actual soles,

treading the salted soil or goodly ice

in the sun's track…

My Sex Life  by RANE ARROYO

2 March 2004
Vol. 4, No. 1

I resist you and take a walk on

a long pier on a shrinking lake.


Women in rowboats whistle down…

Away and Indoors on a Sunny Day in Bergen  by WILLIAM WINFIELD WRIGHT

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4

Light pours into the space between

here and the next thing I can see.


Life on second floors means to know…

Crow  by SARAH VAP

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4
prose poem

I found the lost ice fisher with his glassed-in face. A human light, a field of frozen water. Wrapped in fur, thinking of his horse. Thinking of something else entirely: Wild cows in a silver wood.

Body on the Mountain  by SARAH VAP

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4
prose poem

Several hundred miles of tulips. The fetlock sunk in mud. Doing what we don't need to know about to the steel spines of the violets. To the dog's nipples hanging just off the dirt. To the jade chimes.

A Large Man and His Family  by SARAH VAP

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4
prose poem

A deck of cards on the corner. A sun led steadily away; no better for it. Sitting around in paper gowns. In deep study.

The Little Room  by J. ROBERT SHULL

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4

Welcome to the little room.

You can bring a world in here,

spill an ocean or two…

 

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