George Witte: Laurels
Garland me with pestilence,
blown in, unbidden, rooted out or burnt
with toxin, only to revive.
Michael Simms: The Crows
We barely recognized ourselves
But the crows knew
Who we were and where we’d been
Why we returned
Diane di Prima: To My Father
In my dreams you stand among roses.
You are still the fine gardener you were.
You worry about mother.
You are still the fierce wind, the intolerable force
that almost broke me.
Michael Daley: Desire
I saw the planets align tonight, then fog in sheets,
cloud in waves, whipped across Mt. Erie
and unburdened the night of its new worlds.
Joanne Durham: The Pulaski Skyway, 1970
I drove that massive maze, high as its trusses,
to make it out of New Jersey to New York’s smoky clubs,
to sit a table away from musicians soon to be stars.
Philip Terman: Two Poems
our daughter
rubbing softly and deeply,
her knowing hands breathing
into the pain their love
Wang Jiaxin: Two Poems
Walking down the scorching streets of Moscow,
Osip turned to Anna and said:
“I’m ready to die.”
Rimbaud said that every poem is the last.
Robinson Jeffers: Hurt Hawk
I’d sooner, except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk; but the great redtail
Had nothing left but unable misery
From the bones too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved.
Stuart Dischell: Love’s Dominion
The cabdriver who is a wit
Does not really know that elephant
Tusks and gold bars are packed inside
Love’s trunk along with the bodies
Of Love’s family. Okay, it’s books…
Meg Pokrass: Three Poems
When I said, I miss America
I meant that what is nestled in my brain feels like a harbor.
Adam Patric Miller: Blood Orange
How do you get ideas for your poems? The visiting poet says he goes into the woods to catch a deer but always comes back with a rabbit or a … Continue reading
Sean Sexton: Shirts
And now I come to wear your clothes, shirts
that no longer fit, you barely wore in the end
arranged in piles to divide and sort, of
three sizes—which was the measure of you?
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: The Garden
Because everything I learned from the stained
glass windows I was told to kneel under
still remains thorned & stained & torn,
& all the teachings I was told to believe, still
leave me dis-believing & I wish it were not so —
Timons Esaias: No Boat
There is no boat there
on Ararat’s strong shoulders.
Ignore the astronaut
and take my word.
There is no boat there
and no trees, either.
