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Among School Children
By William Butler Yeats
I

I walk through the long schoolroom questioning;
A kind old nun in a white hood replies;
The children learn to cipher and to sing,
To study reading-books and history,
To cut and sew, be neat in everything
In the best modern way—the children's eyes
In momentary...
The Hero Emerges
By Lev Rubinstein
Translated By Tatiana Tulchinsky & Philip Metres
1
Well, what on earth is there to say?
2
He knows something, but won’t tell.
3
Who knows, maybe you’re …
Poussin
By G.C. Waldrep
Two underworlds, in Poussin.

The one touched by the force
of necessity, the other
remaining untouched.

Simone Weil makes her way
to the refectory
in Ashford. She walks slowly
down the corridors, with
or without help.

The hem of her gown brushes
the maculate plaster
of the long wall.

She could live...
The Book of Frank [“Frank is a”]
By CAConrad
Frank is a
young boy
asleep in
ancient
Tibet

what you
thought was
your life is
really his
dream

he may
wake at any
moment
The Book of Frank [“Frank knows a”]
By CAConrad
Frank knows a
butterfly
who wonders
about her old
caterpillar
friends
The More Loving One
By W. H. Auden
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a...
Poem with Human Intelligence
By J. Estanislao Lopez
This century is younger than me.
It dresses itself
in an overlong coat of Enlightenment thinking
despite the disappearing winter.
It twirls the light-up fidget spinner
won from the carnival of oil economies.
In this century, chatbots write poems
where starlings wander from their murmuration
into the denim-thick...
Scribe
By Norman Finkelstein
You enter the city with harps and with flutes,
with drums and with baskets
of grapes and pomegranates.
You enter the city of blue ash and blue spruce,
that terraced city rumored of the spirit.

You come there as would a fire,
but neither you nor...
The Waste Land
By T. S. Eliot
I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest monthApril is the cruellest month The Waste Land begins with a subversion of the first lines of the General Prologue of The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer. He paints April...
Introduction to (Soma)tic Poetry Rituals
By CAConrad
Growing up in a rural factory town I watched my creative family extend the grind oft monotonous jobs outside the factory walls and into their lives until they were no longer capable of accessing their artistic abilities. The factory essentially...
The Wanderer
By Unknown
Translated By Roy M. Liuzza
Always the one alone longs for mercy,
the Maker's mildness, though, troubled in mind,
across the ocean-ways he has long been forced
co stir with his hands the frost-cold sea,
and walk in exile's paths. Wyrd is fully fixed.

Thus spoke the...
Wynnere and Wastoure
By Unknown
Here begynnes a tretys and god schorte refreytebytwixe Wynnere and Wastoure

Sythen that Bretayne was biggede and Bruyttus it aughte,
Thurgh the takynge of Troye with tresone withinn,
There hathe selcouthes bene sene in seere kynges tymes,
Bot never so many as nowe by...
In Strength Sweetness
By Elizabeth Willis
in the wind / an inky air

in the air / finchness

in the ink / a stone

in the winter / winter

in the nest / in the piney

in the tree / filigree

in the great / bye and bye

in the worm / William...
Whispers of Immortality
By T. S. Eliot
Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned backward with a lipless grin.

Daffodil bulbs instead of balls
Stared from the sockets of the eyes!
He knew that thought clings round dead limbs
Tightening its lusts...
The Black Finger
By Angelina Weld Grimké
I have just seen a most beautiful thing
Slim and still
Against a gold, gold sky,
A straight black cypress,
Sensitive,
Exquisite,
A black finger
Pointing upwards.
Why, beautiful still finger, are you black?
And why arc you pointing upwards?
Correction: Tonight Is Not the Longest Night in the History of the Earth
By Katie Willingham
Lately, I've enlisted an app on my phone to keep track
of the time that I can't witness—it maps the dark blanket
of missing consciousness, a jagged line. Best night/worst night,

it says, though I remember neither....
Staying Power
By Katie Willingham
We know the last stuffed specimen of the dodo burned
in 1755, though Wikipedia's "Dodo: Talk" page shows
sources conflict on whether the fire was an accident

or intentional. They say it had started to smell. The...
White Factory
By Moon Bo Young
Translated By Hedgie Choi
The research center is a cube building with a neat chimney plunged into the right side. The researchers are covered head to toe in white cloth. Unrelatedly, they are sexless. They don't draw lakes in forests. They don't play classic...
Solstice Blessing
By Monica Ong
Black Kief and the Intellectual
By Rosemary Tonks
I shall fill up that pit inside me
With my gloomiest thoughts; and then
Spread myself, prostrate, inert, on top of them.
Ah, miserable at last! Felicity.
Those who drink the sea with its fishy breath
Cannot know with what dread I gorge to death
On...

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Explore Poems: Philosophy

Among School Children

The Hero Emerges

Poussin

The Book of Frank [“Frank is a”]

The Book of Frank [“Frank knows a”]

The More Loving One

Poem with Human Intelligence

Scribe

The Waste Land

Introduction to (Soma)tic Poetry Rituals

The Wanderer

Wynnere and Wastoure

In Strength Sweetness

Whispers of Immortality

The Black Finger

Correction: Tonight Is Not the Longest Night in the History of the Earth

Staying Power

White Factory

Solstice Blessing

Black Kief and the Intellectual

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poetry-magazinePoem with Human Intelligence

poetry-magazineSolstice Blessing

Poussin

Poem with Human Intelligence

Solstice Blessing