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poetry: results 625–648 of 735

from Symphony No. 7  by PAUL ROWLAND

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4

Across vast distances in space, one cat calls to another;

a bat swings round a lamppost like a satellite.

Don't Forget Us  by ALLAN PETERSON

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4

Autotomy in spiders is a voluntary act.

With such surprises, anticipation should have them

humming like the truck of wear-dated carpet

that idled all night in the Hardee's parking lot.

Intersection  by STEPHEN OLIVER

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

The secret lies in elevation; in the erection of it, its meaning, what it relates to. The concept of the finite gave way to loss. Dream gave way to prophecy.

No Pure Pastoral  by ROBERT GIBBONS

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

Nothing is something. The sky diminishing during earth's first tilt toward fall.

Feminine & Masculine of the Day  by ROBERT GIBBONS

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

Did you know the ocean has a skin this morning, a real skin of light, like a newborn? October turning tropical.

Iowa  by RICKY GARNI

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

oh I cannot mention what I saw but I will tell you that it involved a celebrity.

Cultural Studies  by RICKY GARNI

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

there comes a time in which, no matter how important poetry may be, it seems more important to go out and buy throw pillows.

Straw  by MARK CUNNINGHAM

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

Not hay. Too singular. Not chaff, not grain. Something Pre-Socratic about its attraction to living heat, stable dung. Not lace. Not grass-whistle…

Starfish  by MARK CUNNINGHAM

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

Dreams that no matter what button you push, the floors keep flicking past, 33, 34, 35, that you're walking on a long bridge, no land in sight…

What I'm Here For  by THERESA BOYAR

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4

Today, it's the rise

and billow of sheets

on the clothesline, the necessary

rectangles snapped, bleached…

Unveiling the Mummy  by THERESA BOYAR

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4

See the hand: root-like and hooked.

Notched knuckles, scars traveling

veneer of brown skin. See how it crowds

the skull, pushing inward, depraved…

Five of Us Are Going to Watch Your Technique  by CAROLINE BERRY

2 December 2003
Vol. 3, No. 4
editors' select

Let us first think about our spines.

Twitching in the harmless outfit. See blades

& sockets, then dinosaurs. Then see the scar

of string through our center.

St. Helena  by TERESA WHITE

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

The sun hit the water;

a crowd followed its moving light:

how they hated you, how they loved you.

5 a.m.  by TERESA WHITE

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

There's much to do in a sleeping house

though this means silence, little light,

talking to myself.

Even the cats don't wake…

Astigmatism  by LAURA MCCULLOUGH

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

Tell me, please, how to sail

down the corridors of my hair,

shield my glabrous eyes, apprehend

the white flash off the ripe arc…

Reading the Part  by DENNIS MAHAGIN

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

I wonder will you

worry much


when your cherry popping daddies stop…

The Wind Blows Coldly and He Turns Up His Collar  by RUSTIN LARSON

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

The ice refreezes

before the feet walk home.

Tar Pit, Freight Train  by JEFF KERSH

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

Feet sinking in the Wal-Mart parking lot, walls thick and soft

as mattresses crawling up. Windproof, soundproof, dizzy

from the world buzzing around, hummingbirds hovering

to see how much sweetness they can get before the cup…

Euclidean Senses  by JEFF KERSH

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

We were a plane angle of a sort, inclined

to one another in a plane not lying in a straight line.

Her husband might know, or worse, she herself

might find out, seeing as the whole affair…

Six Billion and the River  by ANNALYNN HAMMOND

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

I was once told the infant's eye

is able to drink water

from a curved leaf in China,

and when they sleep…

Night Songs  by ANNALYNN HAMMOND

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

Some nights, birds take form

from nests of twisted barbwire,

or if not birds, something similar—

a coyote or your mother's hand.

The Birdkeepers  by STACEY DUFF

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

When Lisa falls to Anneke falling in Lisa

songs assimilate an auburn cup:

martins are privy to glass, to burn

further in the quivering arrow.

Old Dog, New Trick  by JACK CONWAY

Man walks into a bar with his dog and says to the bartender, "You wanna buy this dog? He recites poetry."

Looking at the Sun  by KEVIN CONDER

2 September 2003
Vol. 3, No. 3

We each bought a sweet roll for a dollar

at Ed's. Cecil unrolled his tape measure

and the damn things were exactly a foot square.

 

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