poetry: results 121–144 of 735

Love Letter with Tsunami Diorama  by FRITZ WARD

27 March 2009
Vol. 9, No. 1
prose poem

After she left, I found the Collins glass of table wine on the windowsill. It counterweighed the nightbird's absence. After she left the second time, I lit a candle in our churchyard…


18 March 2009
Vol. 9, No. 1

Half or fast

asleep, two or three—

times my father pulls

up a wood chair and strums

the guitar, hums the bridge

over troubled water—

On the Rites of Spring, Buenos Aires, 1976  by BRIAN DIAMOND

15 March 2009
Vol. 9, No. 1

Even as the outside world wilts in peculiar

greens, the hideous green of rotten fruit

soft and paunchy about the neck,

how a body goes in time.

Do you remember the promise we made,

lying half-naked in the thick of April?


8 March 2009
Vol. 9, No. 1

Pigment lingers

in the weave of thick paper,

the dusty blood ring

of the wineglass.

The kiss-traced napkins

tossed in piles

like the wrappings of secrets,

disappointingly empty.

Sally's Story  by CYNTHIA HOGUE

5 March 2009
Vol. 9, No. 1

I was so high that I sat on my porch

looking and looking at the streetlights glowing.

The whole world was new.

By Saturday, I'm evacuating,

putting eye drops in as I drive,

feeling like a rat for abandoning Catherine.

She'd said, "It'll turn. I'll be fine."

I gave up. Left her to her fate.

Richard's Story  by CYNTHIA HOGUE

2 March 2009
Vol. 9, No. 1

In July of last year my Hepatitis C

started up again. Maybe it come

from Vietnam, cause I was wounded

and had a blood transfusion in the army.

I don't know. One year I had a cold

and took aspirin and kept on working.

            The next thing I know,

                        I can't breathe.

on finding your keys  by OLGA PESTER

27 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

i dreamt i couldn't find

my spanish class  like you

who have that dream of

finding not and failing who

i  just the same

grandmother said

dream the i

& leave it out

but left is what

and what is who forgetting

crash of sleep  by ELLEN HAGAN

20 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4
prose poem

it is 7:30 am  on the 4 train to the bronx  we are heading fast uptown  doors swinging rough out from their sockets  rush of burnside fordham road kingsbridge terrace  old armory  dirt and trash mark the concrete below me  rip of train  i sit next to a woman with the number nine on her chest  sprawling her breasts stretched  her baby sleeps below  sound

Servant  by EMMA RAMEY

16 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4
prose poem

Growing wild and rank, out in the grass. They asked me to bend down on my knees and rip the dandelions out with my teeth. Not just me. The group of us. Bend down, they said. Your teeth, they said.

You who never arrived  by RAINER MARIA RILKE

15 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4
classic, translation

You who never arrived

in my arms, Beloved, who were lost

from the start,

I don't even know what songs

would please you.

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love  by RAINER MARIA RILKE

14 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4
classic, translation

again and again the two of us walk out together

under the ancient trees, lie down again and again

among the flowers…

What if I say I shall not wait!  by EMILY DICKINSON

13 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

What if I say I shall not wait!

What if I burst the fleshly Gate—

And pass, escaped—to thee!

Ordinary Morning Light  by SHANNON AMIDON

5 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

The weeping women cause a scene at the post office.

No one stares,

exactly, but no kindness is shown. No door is held open as they struggle to exit.

The Glassblower  by SHANNON AMIDON

2 February 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

His heart was colorless

until he discovered the cavity's

lavender cadence and its wildflower

breezed shapes, streaked with cool

witch hazel poultice.

Reach and Retreat  by ADAM HOULE

29 January 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

She watched my arm's arc as I heaved the stick.

I plumbed her eyes for something, and the dog retrieved the stick.

At the abandoned mine she put her hand on mine

To guide me first to second; awkwardly, I learned to drive stick.

Geese don't collide, they said, it's impossible  by ROBIN LEE JORDAN

22 January 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

I wanted a war in the sky.

I wanted to see the weak

slip through the air like dead

birds to the tempestuous water,

not that pathetic confusion—

the stupid shapes they make.


The birds I hear don't sound like opera, not

like flutes or piccolos at play. They sound

like birds. Sometimes the birds are all I've got.

There's nothing grand but wakefulness, the ground

I jump from; nothing but the shining air…

Plant an orange pumpkin patch
which at twelve will quaintly hatch

15 January 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

Each day less

room less water. What I wouldn't give

for roses and thorns for

roses. We drew straws

and she cried

that glass shod bitch birches

follow her home…

My Tongue Swapped Out  by ANN LINDE

12 January 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

I am telling someone else's story.

This is not my magnolia

tree, and these are not

my shelled pecans.

I eat them anyway.

Substation Sonnet  by SALLY MOLINI

9 January 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

Tonight, lightening amps the A-frames,

tilts the drone of my fridge and A/C—

surrounded by the daily buzz,

wonder if I percolate to the same

watt-worn beat. Lights go out,

storm pruning the trees, dark kitchen

good for thinking how too many shallow

currents run me.

Song for this Time  by ANGIE MACRI

6 January 2009
Vol. 8, No. 4

Quails don't have chicks when it doesn't rain,

but I had you in a dry year of war when we fed

on bull nettle in eyebright and meadowsweet.

The footage is from Lebanon this time. You ask

if they fight the buildings down, and why.

A Red, Red Rose  by ROBERT BURNS

23 December 2008
Vol. 8, No. 4
classic, rhyme

O my Luve's like a red, red rose

   That's newly sprung in June:

O my Luve's like the melodie

   That's sweetly play'd in tune!

Red-Haired Girl Wants You to Know  by ANNA JOURNEY

14 December 2008
Vol. 8, No. 4

The sycamore mark on her inner thigh is a continent

about to divide itself into the angel

that sat in the votive light

of a fourteen year-old's cigarette, and the angel

that was never there…

Dissecting the Automaton  by ANNA JOURNEY

11 December 2008
Vol. 8, No. 4

I'm nurse, nurturer, old

knife-girl drawing the moon like iron through the far skylight. The vents sliding

         temperate breaths through metal.

I love an animal that'll open

         like a girl—


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