Wednesday, February 21, 2018

Nayyirah Waheed

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Sometimes  I smell my parents on my words.  and I weep.
Friday, February 02, 2018

Langston Hughes

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I, Too I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laug...
Thursday, December 28, 2017

Tomas Tranströmer

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MIDWINTER  A blue light  streams out of my clothes.  Midwinter.  Ringing tambourines of ice.  I close my eyes.  There is a sil...

Tomas Tranströmer

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TO FRIENDS BEHIND A BORDER  I I wrote to you so cautiously. But what I couldn't say filled and grew like a hot-air balloon and fin...

rupi kaur

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i know it's hard believe me i know it feels like tomorrow will never come and today will be the most difficult day to get through ...
Thursday, September 14, 2017

Maya Angelou

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Our Grandmothers She lay, skin down in the moist dirt,  the canebrake rustling  with the whispers of leaves, and  loud longing of hounds a...
Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Jack Gilbert

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Finding Something  I say moon is horses in the tempered dark, because horse is the closest I can get to it. I sit on the terrace of this...

Jack Gilbert

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Married  I came back from the funeral and crawled  around the apartment, crying hard,  searching for my wife's hair.  For two ...

Janusz Szuber

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The Crowing of Roosters  The crowing of roosters at the change in the weather:  Under a dark blue cloud the dark testicles of plums  Wi...
Friday, February 10, 2017

street poetry

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I inhale a world, budding with inv isible actors, tel ling their story, whispering motio nless, I watch the ir movements, at times qu...
Thursday, November 10, 2016

Warsan Shire

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When We Last Saw Your Father He was sitting in the hospital parking lot in a borrowed car, counting the windows of the building, guessin...

Tennessee Williams

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We Have Not Long To Love We have not long to love.  Light does not stay.  The tender things are those  we fold away.  Coarse fabr...
Sunday, October 30, 2016

Warsan Shire

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     Beauty My older sister soaps between her legs, her hair a prayer of curls. When she was my age, she stole the neighbour's husba...
1 comment:
Friday, October 28, 2016

Ocean Vuong

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     Aubade with Burning City South Vietnam, April 29, 1975: Armed Forces Radio played Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas” as a code to ...

Jim Moore

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Poem Without An Ending      Listening to acorns fall  such a lovely sound      I thought it was the whole poem until I saw the gir...
1 comment:

Mary Oliver

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 Wild Geese  You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only ...
Monday, January 30, 2012

Anne Carson

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6.1 When my brother died (unexpectedly) his widow couldn't find a phone number for me among his papers until two weeks later. While I sw...
2 comments:

Jim Moore

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ON THE DAY AFTER The old woman who lives across the street runs her vacuum on the day after Christmas, cleaning up after the silence of the ...
1 comment:

Rainer Maria Rilke

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Now the hour bows down, it touches me, throbs metallic, lucid and bold: my senses are trembling. I feel my own power – on the plastic day I ...
Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Claudia Emerson

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THE SPANISH LOVER There were warnings: he had, at forty, never married; he was too close to his mother, calling her by her given name, Manue...
12 comments:
Sunday, March 09, 2008

Carol Ann Duffy

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PRAYER Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself. So, a woman will lift her head from the sieve of her hands and stare at t...
5 comments:

Carol Ann Duffy

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MOMENTS OF GRACE I dream through a wordless, familiar place. The small boat of the day sails into morning, past the postman with his modest ...

Carol Ann Duffy

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VALENTINE Not a red rose or a satin heart. I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like the careful undr...
Friday, February 22, 2008

Alice Oswald

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Pruning in Frost Last night, without a sound, a ghost of a world lay down on a world, trees like dream-wrecks coralled with increments of fr...
3 comments:
Monday, January 28, 2008

ARSENIJ TARKOVSKY

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IGNATYEVO FOREST The last leaves' embers in total immolation Rise into the sky; this whole forest Seethes with irritation, just as we di...
1 comment:
Thursday, January 24, 2008

Anne Carson

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From The Beauty of the Husband. A Fictional Essay in 29 Tangos XII. You want to see how things were going from the husband’s point of view⎯ ...
1 comment:
Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Carol Ann Duffy

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Correspondents When you come on Thursday, bring me a letter. We have the language of stuffed birds, teacups. We don’t have the language of b...
3 comments:
Friday, January 11, 2008

Carol Ann Duffy

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TEA I like pouring your tea, lifting the heavy pot, and tipping it up, so the fragrant liquid streams in your china cup. Or when you’re away...
7 comments:
Thursday, January 10, 2008

YOSANO AKIKO (1878-1942)

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Black hair Tangled in a thousand strands. Tangled my hair and Tangled my tangled memories Of our long nights of lovemaking. *** Press my bre...
2 comments:

Sappho

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*Fragment 31 He seems to me equal to gods that man who opposite you sits and listens close to your sweet speaking and lovely laughing ⎯oh it...

Anne Carson

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Lines While talking to my mother I neaten things. Spines of books by the phone. Paperclips in a china dish. Fragments of eraser that dot the...
1 comment:

Kraków

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[ Place Nowy ] by John Berger I have never been in this square before and I know it by heart, or rather I know by heart the people who are ...
Tuesday, January 08, 2008

Andrew Motion

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The Message In Memory of Sarah Raphael I. A crystal mid-winter Saturday dawn and the names of things the same as things themselves: flash-ov...
2 comments:
Monday, January 07, 2008

Jorie Graham

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Mind The slow overture of rain, each drop breaking without breaking into the next, describes the unrelenting, syncopated mind. Not unlike th...
2 comments: