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poetry: results 673–696 of 735

Letter to Brigid Strong  by EMILIO IASIELLO

2 March 2003
Vol. 3, No. 1

Sometimes it's the color red

in a weave or the sun north of Rome

or the rubber band around a two-hole punch

                    and suddenly I'm there again—

And I Really Don't Care  by ALISON DANIEL

2 March 2003
Vol. 3, No. 1

if the lights are on or off, if we're in the kitchen

or the bedroom, half-naked or fully disrobed at six

or seven when we should be thinking about other things

and I really don't care for this position or that particular…

Clichés After Eden—New & Selected  by JEFFREY ALFIER

2 March 2003
Vol. 3, No. 1

"Am I my brother's keeper?"


Like the fuel load of bombers,

clichés come squared and balanced…

When the Story Opens  by ALLAN PETERSON

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4

The ocean unfolds itself. The tongue stays put,

unreadable and needless.

We come to watch, speechless to the lake

where dragonflies dip their abdomens like brushes…

The Future We Can Name  by ALLAN PETERSON

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4

Nothing is motionless, not the painted portrait

blinking while you're away

whose acids are discoloring buttons, whose frame

is oxidizing while moistening its eyes…

Antibodies  by ALLAN PETERSON

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4

Sick maybe, and if so yes for home, but not homesick,

that place where vast pastures continue as horizons—

but scared, and hoping as in a game with friendly players

they let you take back a wrong move. That something…

Forget-Me-Nots  by CYNTHIA MARIE

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4
love poem

Open on the desk Kafka

                                        is flying in his little bucket

     the drops of ink he spilled while becoming aloft

form the profile of a woman's swan neck…

Review of Crucifixions  by MARLENE LINTZER

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4

like the heavy shoulders

of the sea, how the north

star would be named Melville,

would sit about the broad sky…

Fault-Line  by HANNAH LEAH

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4

but I can't forget           there is your story

Believer  by THOMAS KELLAR

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4

I tell her she's superstitious

she fires back:

"You're a poor excuse for a skeptic."

She believes in miracles…

Visualize Being Towed  by CRALAN KELDER

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4
light verse

said the sign

in the parking lot


Or Frogs

Sparse Beauty  by CRALAN KELDER

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4
light verse

After a bath

my very clean ass

Gastronomy  by NICOLE HUBBARD

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4

I lay here in limber fish


(I am not a rice paper kite)

tormented by the wrappers…

Blueprints & Material  by ROBERT GIBBONS

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4
prose poem

Working on a foundation reminiscent of a screened-in porch I helped my family build when I was a kid, only much larger. Carting wheelbarrows of sand for the cement mixer & concrete blocks. Old friends showed up…

About American Poetry  by ROBERT GIBBONS

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4
prose poem

More interested in finding than knowing. The symposia throng, led by panels, almost political, mostly American, addressing the question, 'What is American about American poetry?'

A Last Reminder  by ROBERT GIBBONS

2 December 2002
Vol. 2, No. 4
prose poem

Last day of winter won't disappoint. Rain one degree from the gentleness of snow rides the added chill of March wind bruising skin blue, or red, dreary, dismal. Olson called it dour.

Notes from the Lake #2  by BRANDON SHIMODA

2 September 2002
Vol. 2, No. 3
prose poem

After days of silent glow, nearing the kneaded air and pacing out the things that I wanted to say, I saw you—we met—like two birds along the paths by the water, between which was haze and wood.

Notes from the Lake #10  by BRANDON SHIMODA

2 September 2002
Vol. 2, No. 3
prose poem

In the twilight of things, pressed up against the acres of glass, with our bodies beneath: we walked to the place where the deer had woven themselves into the trees. The grass mounded white, the light receding.

Moving  by MATTHEW W. SCHMEER

2 September 2002
Vol. 2, No. 3

It's the last box, the last chair,

the last look at the place—

the history shared with four walls,

a roof, a floor.

Brautigan's Guts  by MATTHEW W. SCHMEER

2 September 2002
Vol. 2, No. 3
light verse

Hey, Richard,

the rug

got dirty…

Three  by SHELLY REED

2 September 2002
Vol. 2, No. 3

you are the urinal

in which men piss infidelity

when wives demur sex

Mural of a Broken Curfew  by SHELLY REED

2 September 2002
Vol. 2, No. 3

She's queasy over orange juice

and muffin batter rising

while shots of booze

she can't recall names for…

From Georgette (Without Regret)  by MAYA PINDYCK

2 September 2002
Vol. 2, No. 3

This is the box I am putting you in:


Clamorous piano.

Vegetarian meathead…

Amman, 1997  by MAYA PINDYCK

2 September 2002
Vol. 2, No. 3
editors' select

The blood stain on the chair

in our bedroom at the four-star hotel

does not bother me.

 

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