By Ross White
I’m not the first man to lose his father
slowly, not the first to wonder
when I walk in the room if the…
slowly, not the first to wonder
when I walk in the room if the…
Explore Poems: The Body
Showing 1-20 of 1,847 poems
- By Brittany CavallaroIn that movie you profess to love, the villain’s tell
is the blood wept from his bad eye.
The trailhead… - By Alice Notley"A car" "awash with blood" "Blood at our feet" "& I
& others" "have small springs" "of blood from our… - By Sarah CarsonThe last man here wanted
what could not be taken: My girl, he'd say,
my baby. The narrow of his eyes… - By Trevor Ketnertongue / rim a soft hole—tender meat trim—
mind leitmotiv (doe, moss, petal, vein,
hart, hilt, waist, … - By Shubhi SahniDownload the descriptive transcript
You’ll wake up in the middle of the night with
shooting pain
Your … - By Max FischerTaking off my clothes
feels like peeling off parts of
myself as if I’m a butterfly
with its wings sheared… - By Amelia LoefflerYou might be wondering how I got here:
red handed, pants down, under the bleachers
by the football field… - By Carmen Calatayudmy body at the water’s edge of opioid comfort
under the brain’s night sky
rounding the blue curve … - By Rigoberto GonzálezI’m consuming myself,
my doctor says, and I get
the urge each time I lift
a fork. How it rattles
with… - By Martha SilanoIs this the last time I’ll admire the guys
in their neon-yellow slickers, guiding us
to our parking spots… - By Martha SilanoBecause why not? Why not take the smashed pinecone
of my life, render it in purple? Why not dream of… - By Karl KnightsYou left a note.
‘Please don’t judge me
too harshly.’ I read it
at your memorial.
I hate that my voice
didn… - By Karl KnightsIt’s Boxing Day and I’m nearly ten and a half.
I got the camouflaged Action Man for Christmas.
I told … - It leaves a mark on me when I fall
in my father's kitchen.
Only a few days it's been
of lifting him up … - By William Butler Yeats'Because I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,'
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
'Not to die on the straw at home,
Those hands to close the eyes,
That is all I ask, my dear,
From the old... - By William Butler YeatsI
I sought a theme and sought for it in vain,
I sought it daily for six weeks or so.
Maybe at last being but a broken man
I must be satisfied with my heart, although
Winter and summer till old age began
My circus animals... - By William Butler YeatsI
My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is... - By Jalynn Harrisit never occurred to me,
this virus on the pout
of my thumb, multiplying as
sheep scat; a cluster of… - By Norman DubieIf only it were just a lousy herb
That issued feeble tendrils slowly, now and then
Relinquishing some …