Sharon Fagan McDermott: Parli Italiano
Language is a song of loose coins, spilling down
from the fountains. Then bells of the Duomo ring
out over Firenze.
Willem Kusserow-Lair: The Cycle
Don’t let anyone tell you anything is separate in this world.
Sally Bliumis-Dunn: Beaked Whales Should Not Be Spotted Near a Coast
Low tide and all we hear
is the whale’s terrible breathing,
its body drying out
Michael Simms: Dust
The distinct nothingness of my life
suddenly seems glorious,
a particle of dust dancing in the light
beside eight billion others
Video: Negative Space
Based on a 150-word poem by Ron Koertge, “Negative Space” is a short animated film that depicts a father-and-son relationship through the art of packing a suitcase.
Jena Schwartz: Writing Prompt # 4 |The Book of Secrets
I find this to be such a comforting notion, that if we listen carefully, we can remember things we knew before we were born.
Marina Tsvetaeva: Thank God for the Rich
For their root, putrid and loose,
For their weeping-wound from the cradle,
For their perplexing habit of taking
More from my pocket into their pocket.
Paul Christensen: The Bluest Sky
He knew the rotting nature of poverty and the dull, disintegrating poison of lost hope. He had some of the dark anger of Walt Whitman, who could charm a winter tree back into bloom with his dreams and turn on his heels and find despair tearing at the entrails of the ordinary man.
Majid Naficy: Seven Poems During Trump
You are that apple worm which overnight
Grew into a bloodthirsty dragon
Like Haftvad’s worm in the “Ardashir Chronicles”.
Richard Levine: One Night in America
The first time I noticed my hands
trembling, I was still a young man,
just returned from a war…
Kathleen O’Toole: For Such a Time as This
The poet’s ability to inhabit the events, and actors, with King himself center stage, contribute to the power of this collection. Moreover, the questions these poems raise could not be more timely.
Deborah Bogen: Bashō
Sweet friend, hear me. There will always be trouble.
Denise Levertov: Clouds
as if death had lit a pale light
in your flesh, your flesh
was cold to my touch, or not cold
but cool, cooling
Stephen Dobyns: Wisdom
With the door shut the child sat in the closet
with his fingers pressed in his ears. Tell me
the truth, wasn’t it wisdom? Hadn’t he had
a sudden insight into the nature of the world?
