Poetry

Poetry

To articulate sweet sounds together is to work harder than all these.

Classics

I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams.

Poem of the Week

I’ll see you on the sea, they say, but then they float past on a raft

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Poetry Contest Winners

I sit next to a man I never loved but let kiss me wetly for two months.

iPoems

Always I obliged the urban tree, any speechless unblessed nature.

Poetry

Here is my aphorism of the day: Happy people are monogamous.

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Poetry Contest Winners

Death is a lack, I suppose, and love more so. But I will not falter.

Poem of the Week

They taught us do not touch it, but who can keep from touching it?

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Poem of the Week

…when you walk to the edge of the Mekong and make a wish…

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Poem of the Week

You walk and the world bends toward you like leaves waiting for rain.

Poem of the Week

The towns died as quickly as a single house, a house like ours, lit gold within.

Poem of the Week

I’m mourning in the armpits of a lover we once called a family friend.

Poem of the Week

We will use my entire bed and all my dishes, make dirty each chair.

Poem of the Week

We’ve seen the news. We know the story. How even our bodies hurt us.

Poetry

The hound, the leash, the fence, the hens. So many of them.

Poem of the Week

I’m happy in the unmapped landscape inside the bottle.

Poem of the Week

My relationship with god resembled that of a prisoner and firing squad.

Poem of the Week

Snows piling in his crying mouth. Cold gave him a light complexion.

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Poetry

I couldn’t love the tree in every soul shouldering its own tiny autumn.

Poem of the Week

Desperately, children: I am in desperate need for desperate need.

Poem of the Week

She countered the reverence of his efforts stroke by stroke, tit for tat.

Poem of the Week

My father made me watch softball on ESPN 2 to help me stay alive.

Poem of the Week

If everyone’s lost on the roads, you might as well fly. Enjoy your life.

Poetry

Waiting for a cure, waiting for the closeout sale, the black sail.

Poem of the Week

Many times I’ve stood at the lip of this river and wanted to crawl in.

Poem of the Week

For one hundred years I followed old people to learn what I was in for.

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iPoems

In the morning light, I could hear Bashō hard at work.

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Poem of the Week

The appendix on political correctness explains why none of that is funny.

Poem of the Week

You are afraid pain itself might develop a way to communicate.