poetry: results 265–288 of 735

Luck of the Draw  by BRANDY WHITLOCK

6 November 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3
prose poem

You're ripped and he's a little lit and on a whim you've crossed two states to get hitched. Right away it's clear the justice of the peace doesn't like the story here, and before he'll tie the knot, he says, he's got to ask about your breeding. What people you're from. What they might have to say about all this.

Love Poem on a Monday Morning with Mock Complaints, Unreasonable Wishes, Your Name and the Earth for Good Measure  by PAUL GUEST

4 November 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3
editors' select

I'll complain of my bones,

I think it's safe to say

and I'll worry the miles

we never drive. I'll say your name

when I shouldn't

to every door barred before us

as if you're known in Belize…

Bad Mood  by PAUL GUEST

2 November 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

Bad mood and bad dog and bad luck like

my broken neck or heart or head

playing out so much bad weather

like kinked yarn unraveled by a bad

black cat…

Under the Oak  by D. H. LAWRENCE

1 November 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3
classic, rhyme

You, if you were sensible,

When I tell you the stars flash signals, each one dreadful,

You would not turn and answer me

"The night is wonderful."

Aunt Sophie Had a Stroke When I Was Eight  by STEVEN BREYAK

30 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

Though her eyes had kept like marbles,

her tongue was a broken See 'n Say:

people and places but never a story…

The Nine Little Goblins  by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

They all climbed up on a high board fence—

Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes—

Nine little Goblins that had no sense,

And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;

And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat—

And I asked them what they were staring at.

Fourth Song of the Child Soldiers  by ADRIAN LURSSEN

25 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3
editors' select

Case of ditto for eating meat.

Copper rings for arms and

Above the knee. Arm rings

Made from Elephant's teeth.

Ditto ditto for eating meat.

First Song of the Child Soldiers  by ADRIAN LURSSEN

23 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

Here lies a bicycle. Here lies

A shoe. Here sand or ash or

Fingertips and from your Mama

Comes a tune; sound like water…

After Your Colony Collapses  by MELISSA SEVERIN

21 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

Auguries interpreted incorrectly caused a fever.

Dry heat leathers skin, embeds bread in bones that know there's more.

Gift the thunderegg, teethe on junipers, drive to the white dove.

One one-thousand, two…, lightning and strike unwed—wait there's more.


20 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3
classic, rhyme

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back…


19 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3
classic, rhyme

I made a posie, while the day ran by:

Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie

            My life within this band.

But time did becken to the flowers, and they

By noon most cunningly did steal away,

            And wither'd in my hand.

Anatomy of Change  by STACIA M. FLEEGAL

17 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

First, dependence is our only enterprise.

The dirt-nuzzle. Sunlight's rough tongue-lick of the body.

First, change happens only to the sky.

Lost in up-gaze, we grow down. How cryptic of the body.

One Season Arrives  by KAREN NEUBERG

15 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

Gradually, one season arrives

that marks her time

to leave. As simple as that.

I press my hands against an invisible wall.


13 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

What you have been taking for words

are just chattering and ruffling and squawks.

It doesn't mean I don't love you.

It Ends  by JIMMY LO

6 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

Actor and carwash and actor

and carwash and actor together

strip down.

Also  by JIMMY LO

4 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

a man

wearing a blue cap

working his bicycle…

It had stuff in its mouth  by JIMMY LO

2 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

I thought the moose had died

    in the clearing

             where I had stopped

for a tiny breath…

Pauline: A Fragment of a Confession  by ROBERT BROWNING

27 September 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

Pauline, mine own, bend o'er me—thy soft breast

Shall pant to mine—bend o'er me—thy sweet eyes,

And loosened hair, and breathing lips, arms

Drawing me to thee—these build up a screen

To shut me in with thee, and from all fear,

So that I might unlock the sleepless brood

Of fancies from my soul…

To Solitude  by JOHN KEATS

21 September 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3
classic, sonnet, rhyme

O solitude! If I must with thee dwell,

   Let it not be among the jumbled heap

   Of murky buildings;—climb with me the steep,

Nature's Observatory

Not here, not dead.  by NIK DE DOMINIC

the nerves keep 'em shaking, and so

if you take a shovel and split the body, bi-

furcate him, trifurcate him, his little teeth still spit…


When door of death

yawns, dress me pink.



Paint me six

feet with stilettos…

Monody on the Death of Chatterton  by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE

11 September 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3
classic, rhyme

Now prompts the Muse poetic lays,

And high my bosom beats with love of Praise!

But, Chatterton! methinks I hear thy name,

For cold my Fancy grows, and dead each Hope of Fame.

stage one  by JAMISON T. CRABTREE

some women lose more than me,

the uterus, the ovaries, the fallopian tubes, it's good

he says that it was caught early enough. he speaks

with the ease that implies that the body is nothing

more complex than the limbless, trapdoored models

that decorate biology classrooms…


Maps are never skin. I know

that you're only a guide but

I prefer to pretend otherwise.


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