Poetry Magazine
FROM THE CURRENT ISSUE OF
Poetry magazine
I am so alive it gnaws.
. Unquote.I am so alive it gnaws.
. Unquote.From the magazine:Scimitar
From the magazine:On Humility
From the magazine:Kalsarikänni
Recent Features from Poetry
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:Ballad-ish: On Common MeterBy Lindsay TurnerThere’s something fundamental—like a heartbeat or a nursery rhyme—about the beating, ballad-ish quatrain.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:Writing Prompt: Ballad
By Lindsay TurnerThree options for your own poems.
EssayFrom the magazine:This Be the Place: A Budget Pool in East LA
By Diana ArterianIf you haven't begged for a kernel of time-earned wisdom while wet and half-naked, you haven’t lived.
Hard Feelings Essays
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.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Shame: In the Realm of Death and Awe
My writing was not more important to me than my wish to have a family. And this is the well from which much of my shame flowed.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Neediness: Midnight Chimes
What other kind of writer puts so much stock in the quasi-religious notion of a calling or a vocation?
Prose from Poetry Magazine
From the magazine:On Despair: It’s All a Charade
If you can describe it, you must not be knowing it.
From the Poetry Magazine Archive
- PoemFrom the magazine:
Intelligent Design
By Vievee FrancisShiraishi called upon the great sky cock,
wanted an explanation, wondered, why
the echo of form without the wisdom,
why the bent wit without the timing.
Wondered, as I have, how a man, bare
upon the bed may rise as if in praise
but fail to... - PoemFrom the magazine:
Farewell to Poetry
By Daniel RuizI give myself to the end of this poem to decide.
I empty myself, have emptied myself 10,000 times,
like a lung. I guess that’s a terrible estimate. We breathe a fuckton—
even when air has skunk taste and texture, as opposed
to its...
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History
Poetry was founded in Chicago by Harriet Monroe in 1912.
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