Poetry
Poetry
Some goals: stop buying jeans. Stop being angry at mom/dad/sister.
Poem of the Week
Anchored off Biscayne Bay my father’s wooden skiff swings easy.
Poem of the Week
We spit out the black seeds, bits of night glistening on the grass.
Poetry
i stored away in my mama’s empty perfume bottles smells and stories
Poem of the Week
Gotta watch them damn sorry folks he sez they leave the best stuff.
Poem of the Week
We wondered at their habits and gave them little poems for names.
Poetry
I’d wager a cicada is fond of a high note on a synthesizer.
Poetry
We called for the dead dog because toddlers do not understand death.
iPoems
Just sugar cubes and a crop for you. Salt licks to smart the tongue.
Poetry Contest Winners
Your jumps are numbered. It is better to be a bird without altitude.
Poem of the Week
Here’s the world, sweetheart. One word as small & large as a father.
Poem of the Week
I’ll leave a trail of crumbs as I descend into god knows where.
Poem of the Week
I’d make a tub of mud to keep live crabs. I’d refill it daily.
Poem of the Week
Music that tells of how things stand in the troubled world you now have.
Poem of the Week
I hear pleasure ringing, and I wonder what led us to this moment.
Poem of the Week
That summer we moved to the house you would die in years later.
Poetry
It’s been months, and the fields are good for nothing but night talks.
Poetry
Teams spend days surveying the damage and label me a mess.
Poem of the Week
I want everything to mean. To have worth and weight. But it doesn’t.
Poetry Contest Winners
Standing there in our small shadows, we discuss the ways of the dead.
Poetry
For today, fuck it, it’s snowing, stay in. Eat your Wheaties dry.
Poetry
Here is the fat guy whose Chihuahua gnawed through his stomach.
Poetry
Nothing stills, nothing stops. The world is still as it was before.
Poetry
It’s cruel to watch my edges crystallize and reflect light.
Poem of the Week
Like steps of passing ghosts, the leaves break from the trees.
Poem of the Week
That what I call my Self is asleep, and has dreamed up these lilacs.
Poem of the Week
It’s true, I killed my husband. I had my reasons. He was a hunter on the trail.
Poem of the Week
The Village wasn’t really a village. No walnut trees. Just cut flowers.
N30B Winners
The end’s already in motion, the end was starting this whole time.
