Poetry

Poetry

If

If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too: ...

Tying the Knot

We tried the single sheet bend, The double sheet bend, The double eye knot, The sliding overhead knot, The round-turn fishhook tie, The figure eight knot, The half-blood knot, The jansik special, The homer rhode ...

Tributes to Steve Kowit

Steve Kowit, leader among the San Diego poets and editor of the weekly poetry column in the Reader since 2006, passed away in his sleep April 2. The following are among the tributes to Kowit ...

Ode to My Terrible Poem

I loathe you more than a full blown tantrum. More than eating crow with your tongue shoved down my throat. More than hip hop, more than this red thong shimmied up my ass. I’d rather ...

Alarm

I wake to the scream of the fire alarm, like the shock of neon in the dark, stumble into the hall, and see a tongue of light beneath Carmen’s doorway. Throwing the door open, I ...

Brother

It was a kiss on the go, I was leaving. Back to college for the semester. Your cheek rough with acne, the small blond hairs on your chin just sprouting. I didn’t know then how ...

No Second Troy

Why should I blame her that she filled my days With misery, or that she would of late Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways, Or hurled the little streets upon the great, Had ...

Walk All Over You

The stiletto boots in the back of my closet are restless, long to stroll the 3rd Street Promenade, looking for a red silk bustier. A Louis Vuitton bag. A lover who won’t let me down. ...

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love, And saw what I never had seen; A Chapel was built in the midst, Where I used to play on the green. And the gates of this Chapel ...

I, Being Born a Woman and Distressed

I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind, Am urged by your propinquity to find Your person fair, and feel a certain zest To bear your body’s ...

On Growing Old

Be with me, Beauty, for the fire is dying; My dog and I are old, too old for roving. Man, whose young passion sets the spindrift flying, Is soon too lame to march, too cold ...

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