
Poems
Poem of The Day
By Megan Fernandes
I don’t even dig Pound. But in a sunk cemetery in a sinking city
poets stick together. Brodsky is buried two feet away and for him
I leave an MTA card and a wild daisy, mutter about the metaphors
of transit, tell him...
poets stick together. Brodsky is buried two feet away and for him
I leave an MTA card and a wild daisy, mutter about the metaphors
of transit, tell him...
Poem of The Day
By Frank O’Hara
It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don’t know the...
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
because I will get off the 4:19 in Easthampton
at 7:15 and then go straight to dinner
and I don’t know the...
Poem of The Day
By Pamela Sneed
The only antidote I may have to Trump’s election
is in a small ferry to Robben Island
one that shuttles you to the former prison
where those who fought against apartheid were held
The only answers may be in one wool blanket
a basin
toilet
cell
and the tiny windows of Robben Island
in the discarded artillery
the rock and the limestone yard…
is in a small ferry to Robben Island
one that shuttles you to the former prison
where those who fought against apartheid were held
The only answers may be in one wool blanket
a basin
toilet
cell
and the tiny windows of Robben Island
in the discarded artillery
the rock and the limestone yard…
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A Malaysian verse form in quatrains with an intricate repeating pattern.
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From the Poetry Magazine Archive
- PoemBy John Lee ClarkA Deaf Blind poet doesn’t like to read sitting up. A Deaf Blind poet likes to read Braille magazines on the john. A Deaf Blind poet is in the habit of composing nineteenth-century letters and pressing Alt+S. A Deaf Blind poet is a terrible...
- PoemBy Suzi F. GarciaA muster of peacocks show off their tails, but instead of feathers, knives. And smoke where their voices should be. I breathe gray until it fills my throat, choking on tulle. On the loudspeaker, a mutation of a voiceover, a...
- PoemBy Raymond Antrobus1
My ear amps whistle like they are singing
to Echo, goddess of noise,
the raveled knot of tongues,
of blaring birds, consonant crumbs
of dull doorbells, sounds swamped
in my misty hearing aid tubes.
Gaudí believed in holy sound
and built a cathedral to contain it,
pulling...
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Pantoum
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Dactyl
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Invocation