By Frank X Walker
We held hands for the first time
on his deathbed, which would have been
insignificant had we at least …
on his deathbed, which would have been
insignificant had we at least …
Explore Poems: Grief
Showing 1-20 of 2,019 poems
- By Frank X WalkerBoth of them were history, even before one
pulled the trigger, before I rocketed through
the smoking barrel… - By Larry LevisI had already decided that a thing could not be seen
For the thing it was, when I looked up & waved … - By Robert Wood LynnAnd when the end came it came silent but clear like bird prints on snow
and no one was surprised to… - By Sunnylyn ThibodeauxStorm comes like Gorgon slither
Gorgon wingspan
Sound is someplace else
like head under water someplace… - By Dāshaun WashingtonThe news said an unidentified man died today
in an accident involving several stray bullets,
fired … - By Frank X WalkerNobody slept. We just lay there stretched out
on the floor like we did when we were kids,
all lined up… - By Shlagha BorahSay a scene is being set—unrest, uprising. Teargas, gunshots, fire, smoke. So much smoke. University…
- By Nur TurkmaniA jackal returns to the border town of Aitaroun,
after a year of phosphorus bombs. June, wasn’t it,
years… - By Shara LessleyBelly to branch, the sapsucker drills
the maple’s well, drumming
the trunk, its red throat thrumming.
I… - By E. Ethelbert Miller“I can’t breathe,” he said.
But there was no air.
Only the absence of trees
and rope. The swaying
of… - By Nate Marshallour vow—
if vowless by thirty
then us
was such
a stupid, childish way
to say love.
but love we were… - By Nay ThitBefore I was born, my mother says, there was another boy. My brother. One day, half-asleep during lunch…
- By Abner DormiendoTranslated By Ethan ChuaI was dragged to by my feet,
memories misled me
with their leavings, an engkanto
made my native … - By Abner Dormiendokung saan ako dinala ng aking mga paa,
latak ng alaalang nililigaw ako
na parang engkanto,
na parang… - By Austin AllenEven weeks after you went, they came:
Frontgate, Fresh Finds, Hearthsong—the names blurring,
the smiling… - By E. Ethelbert Milleri will die this month. how
i do not know. still there
is much work to be done. i
am afraid not for myself… - By Shann Rayi . sorrow is the curved ribcage of a beautiful death,
- By Darius Simpsonbut i know better. i know poets like you don’t do no half-steppin. especially not on your way out. especially…
- By Darius Simpsondo you remember in fifth grade
when i was all of eighty pounds
soaking wet and fully clothed
i told you…