Poetry

The past tells me I won’t learn from it

Four poems by Kyle Manning

Hooked We complicate In savage glee Casting many Lines into Lifeless waters Hooking each Other’s hooks and Pulling mad to Never have the Tension reveal itself As the tangle of Our wild dreams Of darling ...

Dear God, I hear you knocking

Three Poems by Lydia Ong

A-B-C’s I learned my A-B-C’s at the ripe age of three Letters built words and words breathed life At ten I learned A’s got love from my mother — B’s lowered eyes, C’s a yelling ...

I howl, you whisper

Reinvent your wings — spread them out

Plum Tree I devour, You gnaw I stomp, You glide I howl, You whisper I fight You embrace I close, You open I dream, You exist I tear, You reconcile I war, You peace I ...

Every Jeep is a god

Two poems by Don Kingfisher Campbell

In the Sea of Dolphins, I Am a Manta Ray Dive into the sun to find opened eyes An empty sky, full of ghosts Smile because trees become bare Carcasses on snowy streets A monkey ...

My comb triumphantly accumulates more of my hair

Four poems by Roberto Castillo Udiarte (translated by Anthony Seidman)

Lil’ Blues For several days my heart has shared much in common with a barbershop, the shuttered drugstore, and empty parking lot. 5:30 p.m. Dirty plates, yellow napkins, cigarettes, mother-of-pearl ashtrays, a once-bitten fruit, the ...

Siri, are you there?

Four poems by Marie Albertson

Water I The womb Is made up of equal parts Water and stars. There is no way to distill this brew Further down in its essence. You wait until you cannot stand anymore The pressure ...

Neither sonnets nor haiku

Limericks showcase your cleverness and irreverence

Dear Hipster, Do you agree with my belief that haiku ought to be the poem of choice in the hipster community? They are simple yet crafty, and the principle of kireji — a sort of ...

Under the U Heights sign

Assaulted by sun, starlight dims

i loathe your neighborhood see the ghosts of myself on its streets — there! under the U Heights sign collapsed on grafittied bus stop bench, weeping. lamppost-leaning, sobbing. we shared our first kiss in that ...

By 60 we have lost two hundred thousand things

Three poems by Theresa Rogers

I read a person misplaces up to nine objects a day — ashtrays made of painted clay cherry red hula hoops china dolls and diamond rings a father at six. By 60 we have lost ...

Martin Camps — from seminarian to Beat poet

Born in Tijuana, moved to Juarez, now in U.S.

Giraffe in Juarez There’s a giraffe in the central park of Ciudad Juárez. Simple as that: a towering, Upper-Case and lonely giraffe. I studied her as she gazed at the sun sinking behind the hill ...

Methane Snow, Drinking at Mabel Murphy's, There Wasn't a Wing in the Sky

Is that a switchblade on the bar?

Methane Snow The scent of my father, the smoke from his cigarettes embedded in the leather band of his Timex watch, the smell of morphine and cancer as he died at the Soldiers and Sailors ...

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