Carol Frost: Now Soon
Father and mother time to rise up put away the dark
give back to him more than he can ever use give what is
not his to have what he never knew he knows and all he feels
Attracta Fahy: Two Poems
We walk home from the fields,
our young backs arched, aching,
from spreading slits.
Wendy Cope: Lissadell
The light of evening. A gazelle.
It seemed unchanged since Yeats’s day.
Last year we went to Lissadell
And life was good and all is well.
Video: Jaimie G | Animals
Comedian Jaimie G talks about our treatment of animals, the environmental impact of animal agriculture and much more in this spoken word poem.
Rupert Brooke: The Fish
O world of lips, O world of laughter,
Where hope is fleet and thought flies after,
Of lights in the clear night, of cries
That drift along the wave and rise
Carlene M. Gadapee: Accidental Hymn by Dawn Potter
Dawn’s speakers are the collective voice of the common person: she captures the hard-working, angry, sad, loving, celebratory voices of the Maine woods and coast, the hills of Appalachia, the house-bound and the homesick…
Jose Padua: An Existential Traffic Update for the I-81 Corridor
The Burger King down the block
is open during renovations
and the man who
got shot several times
at his house a few streets away
on Saturday night
survived
Gail Langstroth: Composting on Earth Care Farm
In two handfuls of the finished compost there are more microorganisms
than people on earth, says Mike.
Gerry LaFemina: Some Things Just Can’t Be Explained
This is what sasquatch does, leaves
behind only a remnant of itself, some imprint,
a clue. The rest is speculation, the way
the Phantom Grammarian could have been anyone—
Lisa Fay Coutley | Shelter: Michigan
He wants me
to believe he met Jesus in Memphis
after his car went dead & he forgot
& forgot & forgot to feed his dog.
Edna St. Vincent Millay: “Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!”
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard,
“What a big book for such a little head!”
Come, I will show you now my newest hat,
And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink!
Patricia Clark: My Father on a Bicycle
If you ever saw my father in shorts,
you wouldn’t forget his stick-thin legs,
the knees knobby as windfall dwarf apples.
John Balaban: Anna Akhmatova Spends the Night on Miami Beach
What killed her was the talk, the empty eyes,
which made her long for the one person in ten thousand
who could say her name, who could take her home,
giving her a place between Auden and Apollinaire
Dawn Potter: About Mothers
How can I judge the worth of a brooding life?
In a busy restaurant my giant son leans his head on my shoulder,
and I am his mother again, lifting his memory into my arms.
