Poetry
Poetry
Sometimes they revert to trickery, apple their venom with a smile.
Poem of the Week
We want no truck with death. Not now while we’re busy feasting on figs.
iPoems
Chill air at six a.m., a bare hand scraping frost from a windowpane.
Poetry
Your face is a grain of rice, one small nothing on the world’s horizon.
Poetry Contest Winners
shoulds & shouldn’ts unwound now to dids & didn’t
Poem of the Week
Every morning I wipe the sweat from the hollow of my master’s throat.
Poem of the Week
Close mist around window. I attempt gender. Deposit each letter.
Poem of the Week
The cicada will crawl up a tree and leave the murmur of skin.
Poem of the Week
Vita brevis, source of all not enough. Light leaked from stopped time.
Poem of the Week
The neighbor needs his blaring-music his car-cocoon of sound
Poetry
Now, this new dark blot on the street. Maybe motor oil, or blood or worse.
Poem of the Week
A rifle, empty shells, the remains of a man, a bullet through his chest.
Poem of the Week
Every step I’ve taken has been from one tongue to another.
Poem of the Week
Many people remarked upon the similarities between the flags.
Poem of the Week
Oh love is stupid but it’s true, all day I feel as if I were a dog on a chain.
Poem of the Week
What we know of love between species we learn from the bones.
Poem of the Week
Do you really want to live in this filth? And me answering, Well, yes.
Poetry
Love isn’t the same as happiness. Some poet probably said that.
Poem of the Week
It wasn’t so long ago I carried my tiny son piggyback through the woods.
Poem of the Week
He’s in the back of the cop car, hands in handcuffs, shaped like infinity.
Poem of the Week
I take what I want, and have ever since what I want disappeared.
Narrative High School Writing Contest
There are elephants in the hall looking for their mothers.
Poem of the Week
A voice like my mother’s nail polish and my father’s lottery tickets.
Poetry
How, like a dream, all the world’s characters are aspects of me.
Poetry
Lately it’s getting harder to say the true thing, to find solace in nature.
Poem of the Week
I couldn’t wait. By the time you return it would’ve rotted on the vine.
Poem of the Week
They’re are all begging to be fed. Changed. Read to. Desperate for milk.
