Article
By David Grundy
Ted Joans fused jazz and Surrealism in poems of revolutionary fervor.
Category
Music
Showing 1-20 of 545 results
- PoemBy Dan Beachy-QuickI created more loss where I meant to make less.
Created more debt where I meant to make depth.
Created… - AudioPoetry Off the ShelfCaleb Femi on parties, golden pavements, and the downside of self-awareness.
- ArticleBy Walker Mimms
The songwriter espoused a personal, hedonistic kind of spirituality.
- PoemBy Jayne CortezTell me about the good things
you clappin & laughin
Will you remember
or will you forget
Forget about… - ArticleBy Daisy Fried
August Kleinzahler on A History of Western Music.
- AudioPoetry Off the ShelfA.B. Spellman on Jim Crow, alligator suede shoes, and shaking up the art of the castle.
- PoemBy George KalamarasEven the earth dies sometimes
when it is most alive.
Walter Bishop Jr. slaying the keys,
Harold Vick… - PoemBy Nicolás GuillénFueron a cazar guitarras,
bajo la luna llena.
Y trajeron ésta,
pálida, fina, esbelta,
ojos de inagotable… - PoemBy Nicolás GuillénTranslated By Aaron ColemanThey went out hunting for guitars,
underneath the full moon.
And they brought back her:
pale, fine, lithe… - Audio
"We wanted to be writers the way, a year or two later, everybody else wanted to be in a rock group."
Excerpted interview with Aram Saroyan by Tom Snarsky - PoemBy Cornelius EadySome folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell… - ArticleBy Adrian Matejka
Early in my poetry journey, I lived in Seattle and had a few writing rituals that made me feel like a Poet. One was visiting Jimi Hendrix’s grave.
- PoemBy Pat MoraBuenos dias and hasta lue$o in boardrooms and strategy sessions, Where are your grateful holiday smiles bilinguals? I've given you a voice, let you in
to hear old friends tell old jokes,
Stop flinching, Drink eggnog, Hum alon,
Not carols we hear
whimpering
children too... - PoemBy Bruce SniderShe lip-syncs “Hello God,” then “9 to 5.”
She struts. Or does she fly? Like the soul,
a rhinestone, she tells us, will never die.
She’s a blush-pink Bible. Patched together,
she’s a cosmic doll. Mirror of a mirror,
she winks, her face the only... - PoemBy Frank Marshall DavisWho named him Yard Bird?
He was a homing pigeon
With no home to fly to
Sky unlimited
Route uncharted
Eagle strong
He scorched his wings
Haunting the heavens
Buzzing the sun
As the feebler fowl
Looked up in awe
But played it safe
In the rambling sky
He lived!
Here he rendezvoused
With freedom
Flashing... - PoemBy Frank Marshall DavisHer rum-brown rope of a voice
Fastens flannel strands
Around soft sides of staid notes
Sitting properly
On their oh so proper scale
She pulls
And the notes fall
Into her molten mold
Of flaming sound