Poem
By Li Bai
Translated By Keith Holyoak
Back when my hair barely covered my forehead
I was picking flowers in front of the gate.
You rode over…
I was picking flowers in front of the gate.
You rode over…
Category
Marriage & Companionship
Showing 1-20 of 527 results
- PoemBy Kimberly Johnsoni
The last time I lost you, I had turned
To salt. The hospice nurses all assured
An easier passing… - AudioPoetry Off the ShelfCass Donish on grief rituals, putting on makeup, and letting in joy.
- PoemBy Martha SilanoIs this the last time I’ll admire the guys
in their neon-yellow slickers, guiding us
to our parking spots… - PoemBy William OlsenObservation isn’t serious play. It is living serious. Same heron. It’s used to us, we are as twilight…
- PoemBy Molly PeacockYou burst through the door
wheeling your red Swiss
Army suitcase—how had
you packed all you needed
in… - PoemBy Molly PeacockWhen I feel moved and then say I am touched,
it’s another presence inside me I sense,
the dip of an oar… - PoemBy Molly PeacockWhen you looked up and said, “Thank you,” I saw
your gratitude rise over us like rain.
It seemed external… - PoemBy Brenda HillmanHaving stopped using dolphins to locate explosives in the Cold War
they had 30 leftover dolphins.
An officer… - PoemBy Cornelius EadySome folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell… - PoemBy Ama CodjoeI don’t like being photographed. When we kissed
at a wedding, the night grew long and luminous.
You unhooked my bra. A photograph
passes for proof, Sontag says, that a given thing
has happened. Or you leaned back to watch
as I eased the straps... - PoemBy Richard SikenDriving, dogs barking, how you get used to it, how you make
the new streets… - PoemBy DaMaris B. HillEvery wife must apologize for not being her husband’s
mother? But he will not forgive you. The absence
of his mother's kiss is the scar of repeated
wounding. He marries you too young, before
he littered his seeds along the road. This is why
he... - PoemBy Amber AdamsOn the morning after my death
it will seem like any other day
where you will both wake and sleep
and some events between,
but I will not be here
to change the mop pad, or order
the coffee pods before we run out.
I will be... - PoemBy C.L. O’DellOne day
either you
or me
as if drugged
will be staring
at a collage
of photos
in an unfamiliar
foyer,
the other
sleeping
in the next room over
inside a shiny box
like a saw-in-half trick
where everyone
seated in rows
is waiting for something
to happen.
I know
I’ll be stuck
in that first room
where old friends
who knew
you...