By Aishvarya Arora
birdsong isn’t trying to be
an orchestra a murmuration isn’t
trying to be a spray
of fighter jets…
an orchestra a murmuration isn’t
trying to be a spray
of fighter jets…
Explore Poems: Living
Showing 1-20 of 9,301 poems
- By Ricardo ReisTranslated By Margaret Jull Costa & Patricio FerrariInside us live innumerable others;
If I think or feel, I do not know
Who is thinking or feeling.
I am only… - By Angela JacksonThis question has a sting inside
Like a wasp’s:
Who is beautiful
And who is not?
The Conquerors leave their… - By Charlie PeckMy lack of skill, I just hammered the keys. A piano chord,
the overcoat. On a lacquered floor I played… - By Charlie PeckMarcus got sentenced to a weekend, told us
his positive test was off the charts. It was a baby
hit… - By Andy ChenOn my sixth day of Covid I venture
with tea, a notebook, and the last of the peaches
out back to our… - By Leslie SainzWhen I imitate myself, I am a number of certain people,
some of them certain. I, myself, am a master … - By Sunnylyn ThibodeauxStorm comes like Gorgon slither
Gorgon wingspan
Sound is someplace else
like head under water someplace… - By Charles BernsteinSouth of Naples
North of desire
I lost my way
In the middle of a choir
Blinds of clay
Splints of wire… - By Aishvarya Aroramy west-facing window
is not trying
to be a TV.
when saturdays sink
behind the hills
in a blaze
fast enough… - By Jane HuffmanThe dilemma
is one of expression.
My expression,
my cough, speaks for me.
What I want
to express is very … - By Cara DeesThe year the local woman was murdered and her body
fed to dogs, we slipped vanilla gloss over our lips… - By Anna Nygrenthe woods are the woods are the woods
seaks the dog
play dead to
to come to life
awaken the search
instinct
do ibreath e
do youbreath e
give candy
lick the fingers
We lie close
on the leather sofa
skin meets leather
dead against life
you pound my head
in to the breasts
i want to stay
in the warm
is it summer or
only fever
Your sister’s boyfriend calls us
anus-kids, mini-sluts
We know yet nothing
We whisper it in the night
We are the pride glittering
one day
we find
a dead
rat under
the hay in
the stables it
pulls
somewhere inside me
we bury it in
in the grit
it gets
a pile where the ground
don’t want it inside it - By Robert Wood LynnI loved all the things so much I tried
to stick them one to another. I spit
my gum between the cushions… - 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 Larry LevisI had already decided that a thing could not be seen
For the thing it was, when I looked up & waved … - By Frank X WalkerBoth of them were history, even before one
pulled the trigger, before I rocketed through
the smoking barrel… - By Frank X WalkerWe held hands for the first time
on his deathbed, which would have been
insignificant had we at least … - 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 Maggie SmithThe day is winter bright. I blink against it.
Each time the sun glints in my eyes,
each time I close…