101–120 of 11462 Poems
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What I Eat is a Prayer
BY JOYELLE MCSWEENEY
Then in the August of my twenty-seventh year,
naked except for my seaclogs,
I greeted an audience of piers. . . .
Bureau of
BY JOYELLE MCSWEENEY
This is the body of,
waiting to turn on.
. . .
The Siren
BY JOYELLE MCSWEENEY
The puppy must be learned of all this material.
No map of the hospital. First, the war effort.
Then, the war itself. The water makes and remakes . . .
Hotel
BY PHILIP NIKOLAYEV
Time to recount the sparrows of the air.
Seated alone on an elected stair,
I stare as they appear and disappear. . . .
Tendency toward Vagrancy
BY PHILIP NIKOLAYEV
I’ve long had what Soviet psychiatrists
called “a tendency toward vagrancy.”
At four I would run away from home . . .
Survey
BY DONALD REVELL
I am so lonely for the twentieth century,
for the deeply felt, obscene graffiti
of armed men and the beautiful bridges . . .
My Factless Autobiography
BY ALLI WARREN
I arise around survival of the event
as worse than the event
The whole place surrounds the smell . . .
Apple Blossoms
BY SUSAN KELLY-DEWITT
One evening in winter
when nothing has been enough,
when the days are too short, . . .
Brasil
BY FARNOOSH FATHI
Left a hole on fire agony or was it the sun
on the banks and near duets?
Eagles with the white wine of the sun . . .
Honey/Manila Portfolio
BY FARNOOSH FATHI
This is not a book. Otherwise, by now
We would love each other.
You would not put me first, . . .
Two Hear Cicadas
BY FARNOOSH FATHI
BEEF: We are here between trees,
with the tempo of a rosary being strung
in a queue of escalating beads— . . .
Memory
BY FARNOOSH FATHI
Over the night a bull
Whispers into a coal
. . .
To the Censorious Ones
BY ANNE WALDMAN
I'm coming up out of the tomb, Men of War
Just when you thought you had me down, in place, hidden
I'm coming up now
Can you feel the ground rumble under your feet?
It's breaking apart, it's turning over, it's pushing up
It's thrusting into your point of view, your private property
O . . .
Beastgardens
BY LUCY IVES
first garden
Beastgarden. . . .
Early Poem
BY LUCY IVES
The first sentence is a sentence about writing. The second sentence tells you it's alright to lose interest. You might be one of those people who sits back in his or her chair without interest, and this would have been the third sentence you would have read. The fourth sentence, what does . . .
Black Swan
BY STEPHANIE YOUNG
After the second conference, I would be cast in the role of a young dancer with a prestigious New York City ballet company. I would be cast in the role of the mother, a former dancer now amateur artist, whose career ended at 28 when she became pregnant. I would be cast in the role of the . . .
Essay
BY STEPHANIE YOUNG
I guess it's too late to live on the farm
I guess it's too late to enter the darkened room in which a single light . . .
A Practice Known as Churning
BY ALLI WARREN
I went to the city some days
to learn my master's pleasure
& laid fort at the farthest place . . .
The Help I Need Is Not Available Here
BY ALLI WARREN
I need help with long term hope
I need help with the dawn
of war and achieving . . .
All My Activities Are Feeding Activities
BY ALLI WARREN
Dear Commissioner
here are my directive accounts
of genitals and cash . . .
«4567»
