By Heidi Williamson
You’re fifteen and nowhere in a town on the edge of pitiful lands stripped of fruit. The burger van’…
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Showing 1-20 of 3,019 poems
- By John MulcareWe inhaled slag wool in the throat
of a Tennessee summer, installing cheap
can lights, like capping off… - By Daniel HalpernThe redolence of rose and new road.
The attar of grass, recently cut.
The fish-whiff of anchovy.
The spinning… - By Sasha PearlI’m in Shartlesville
Eating air-chilled wings in the sleeper cab
I took the contract because the devil… - By Stefania GomezIn the sunless hour before day I hear the man I want
to love just how I’d want him. He’ll never let a… - By Omotara JamesWhen Sarah Vaughan pipes from the great American songbook,
I forget time is dragging my body from one… - By Angelina SáenzBrother charro
do you realize
that it is because of escaramuza
that you have an audience?
Our performances… - By ire’ne lara silvathey announce us Valentina Covarrubias montada en Viento
my girl does not cower does not wave or smile… - By Angelina SáenzI am a feminist who loves my sport
and the machismo in charrería often gets to me
To be clear
I am not … - By Angelina SáenzThere is a framed photograph of my grandmother
She is a young woman, sitting on a horse, vestida de china… - By ire’ne lara silvawe are taught the beauty of the rose
the serenity of the soft and the still
the austerity of silver stars… - By Angelina SáenzNo
I don’t dance horses
I am not a mariachi
I am not a baile folklorico dancer
I am not the half-time show… - By Nicole GonzalezThe Spiritual Symbiotic Triad
White corn masa harina
puff up on the comal,
Calabacitas steaming
… - By Robert Browning1.My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch… - By R. L. SwihartThe migration continues. Continuous. Sporadic.
With mathematical complexity, wind
over sand
*
Ropes … - By Henry Wadsworth LongfellowUnder a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large… - By BashōTranslated By Lucien StrykWake, butterfly—
it's late, we've miles
to go together. - By Shereen AkhtarIn our first house-let in London, she drew on the tablecloth to create
a calligraphic feast. Our friends… - By Zach CzaiaI'm sorry it wasn't till the end of the year
that I asked you to write about yourselves. You filled pages… - By D. H. LawrenceThe Last Lesson
When will the bell ring, and end this weariness?
How long have they tugged the leash…