Poetry Magazine
FROM THE CURRENT ISSUE OF
Poetry magazine
All that repeats—
let it be sweet?
All that repeats—
let it be sweet?
From the magazine:God of Song
From the magazine:From Below
From the magazine:Cooking Gas Commercial
Recent Features from Poetry
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:Galvanizing TexturesBy Marcus JacksonStreet portraits and poetry depicting the unfolding nuances of under-heralded people’s veracity and beauty.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Disgust: Gurgling PitsBy Jane WongDisgusting, isn’t it, how much we want to be loved?
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Nostalgia: Ever Cleaner, Ever More PillowyBy Boris DralyukSurely the experience of immigration reinforced my predilections, but some people are simply born looking backward.
Hard Feelings Essays
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Disgust: Gurgling Pits
Disgusting, isn’t it, how much we want to be loved?
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Nostalgia: Ever Cleaner, Ever More Pillowy
Surely the experience of immigration reinforced my predilections, but some people are simply born looking backward.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Fear: Radiant and Brimming
Where my ex deemed me unmaternal because of my writing, the opposite is true: I’m no good to anyone if I don’t preserve this one thing for myself.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Self-Loathing: My Particular Involvement
When, long after puberty had done its work, I was finally able to re-admit my original understanding of myself to myself, I saw my self-loathing in a new light.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Heartbreak: The Beautiful Half of a Golden Hurt
On Heartbreak: The Beautiful Half of a Golden Hurt
I’ve heard it said that if poets are not writing about death, they’re not writing about anything; the same could be said for love.
From the Poetry Magazine Archive
- PoemFrom the magazine:
A Whole Foods in Hawai‘i
By Craig Santos PerezI dreamed of you tonight, Wayne Kaumualii Westlake, as I walked down on the sidewalk under plumeria trees with a vog headache looking at the Māhealani moon.
In my need fo’ grindz, and hungry fo’ modernity, I stumbled into the gentrified... - PoemFrom the magazine:
One Kind of Hunger
By Lehua M. TaitanoThe Seneca carry stories in satchels.
They are made of pounded corn and a grandmother’s throat.
The right boy will approach the dampness of a forest with a sling, a modest twining wreath for the bodies of birds. A liquid eye.
When ruffed... - PoemFrom the magazine:
Everybody Has a Heartache: A Blues
By Joy HarjoIn the United terminal in Chicago at five on a Friday afternoon
The sky is breaking with rain and wind and all the flights
Are delayed forever. We will never get to where we are going
And there’s no way back to where...
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History
Poetry was founded in Chicago by Harriet Monroe in 1912.
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