Articles in arts & in & society tagged with poem

Jonathan Skinner
David Baker

One starts. The still heat is a blown curtain.
The curtain wavers then—now two of them—

and another from beyond the blue agave.
Soon the whistling, wheet-eet-eet, the many,

Drew Milne

They saw too much difference in weathers
but the pink light is hazy with brake dust

how that adjective kills it, dim lands cut
and their forgotten cinema torn to kisses

Isabel Sobral Campos

I’m sun blind. 

I wake up to green things on my face & echolocate myself in the world by smelling my armpits. 

The arctic swells with grief.

My gut distressed like a morning hymn

Kathy Nilsson

At dawn when traffic lights burn like roses
I feel pity akin to love
For the little deviants of wild
Turkeys skulking around this city.

Kristin George Bagdanov

I feed my body less and want more        the surplus
I was promised          storehouses of grain        plains of locust
don’t signify a thing without hunger    
telos that defers its own ending

Lee Upton

The dog violet, pressing a flat ear to the ground,

has news of great importance:

it is spring

and jealousy turns its blade again.

Marcella Durand

the river was central

each branch arterial

pulling land along with it

in form of pebbles, sand, agglomerate

Mark Irwin

Men surrounded by lumber and nails, then suddenly a house with two kids, a dog, swing set
and barbeque, spinning on its street among other homes
on the green grass of this planet.

Nate Klug

One thing to do
until you can’t
is wait, foot tentative
testing for deceit