Poetry
Poetry
I have studied and become intimate with the speed of darkness.
Poem of the Week
Outside of Ikea’s window the nighttime wind tilts like a folk song.
Poetry
this country will stick it to infiltrators imprison traitors love neighbors
Poem of the Week
The local madman’s been here even longer, lying across the sidewalk.
It’s no sin, all who hurry past his babble: no word-salad unlocks God.
Poem of the Week
I hold out hands, empty and poor like a beggar by the temple door.
Poem of the Week
We see how tired you are as you lean on your rifle or your shovel.
Poetry
A charmed sequence of words. The jangle. The strum.
Poem of the Week
Between me and the sky is a screen door and a whole mess of wind.
Poetry
Flies at our dinner—Won’t eat much sings the tiny ghost of my mother.
Poem of the Week
Surely a million mothers and school teachers can’t be entirely wrong.
Poem of the Week
Forgive my father, the promise that he made, that I could turn all this to gold.
Poetry
Strange then, strange now, that language wants to be alone with me.
Poem of the Week
Men like me and my brothers filmed what we planted for proof we existed.
Poem of the Week
It is right that tears fall for something small and forgotten.
And I would never scold the onion for causing tears.
Poetry
Little footage, this plot, where it thrived at first, then ghosted away.
Poetry Contest Winners
To deny love can’t undo the feeling of it.
Poetry
When the snake attacked the soldier, its fangs left a violent opening.
Poem of the Week
I try to imagine him wanting only a Toblerone bar for his birthday.
Classics
No one’s alone. Men kill for this, or for as much. And what of the dead?
iPoems
Those under us are not dead. They are dancers. We are the music.
Poem of the Week
Never mind the gossip of the world. Don’t have it, yet have it!
Poetry
We spread. Kneel. We’ll come out missing parts. This we know.
Poetry
Some people see the man but not the light, the field but not the varnish.
Classics
One said she heard the jazz-band sob when the little dawn was grey.
Poem of the Week
We’d hit something in the dark which—bang!—was there and gone.
Poetry
In the backyard I submerge myself in a bathtub of soil, soak with the hose.
Poem of the Week
I crouched just like my mother burying nail clippings to ward off curses.
Poem of the Week
I was dusty, my ponytail all askew and the tips of my fingers ran red.
Poem of the Week
This is the woman who had shrunk so small, nobody could find her.
Poem of the Week
He came into town with his big red pen and began revising us.
