Poetry
Poetry
That there are five sturdy red Gerber daisies in a jar on the table.
Poem of the Week
I was once very brave. Once I was very brave. I was very brave once.
Poem of the Week
Centrifugal force circled the beasts until they swirled airborne.
iPoems
Three lives I flicked alight with a few match scrapes. I cupped them.
Poem of the Week
A woman pushing a walker understands—gravel can be pain.
Poem of the Week
Black wings thrash in trees, then strafe me low, my head their devil.
Poetry
I didn't yet understand how loving something means to lose it.
Poetry
What my father and I destroyed, I take back—kneeling, among the shells.
Poem of the Week
Everyone is talking about the end of the world. Why now? Why today?
iPoems
Afterward, it was nature that was blind, and she who was wild.
Poem of the Week
A dwarf is now crying, he sounds swollen but golden with malediction.
Poetry
I could page the women’s voices in their velvet bags bound with string.
Poem of the Week
I have seen your ocean. I have heard your waves beside my bed.
Poetry Contest Winners
He grew a forest of candles and cried when it succumbed to wildfire.
Poetry
Raw, glistening—god’s design. Her newborn flesh-on-the-bone.
Poem of the Week
It comes as no surprise that everything is flying toward one point.
Poem of the Week
The blackbirds in the rain upon the dead topbranches notate the dawn.
Poem of the Week
This poem weaves human and earthly hurt together in just a few short lines.
Poetry
The trees were a sign from the devil, a warning of the terror to come.
Poem of the Week
She is a stalk, exhausted. She will surround these bones with flesh.
Poem of the Week
Watch out. That we thought him gone only proves his wily knowledge.
Poetry
I open the gift: a small ocelot, its mouth a cave, pearl teeth waiting.
Poem of the Week
Men veer into the earth and don’t come out.
Silent choirs of canaries roost in a forest of chimneys.
Poem of the Week
If you didn’t listen you would think it was a cry for help or sympathy.
Poem of the Week
The billows murmur at our feet, where the earth and ocean meet.
Poetry
Some women have all the tit out hip out flat of the hand & tone of voice.
Poem of the Week
I walk and I rest while the eyes of my dead look through my own.
