By Courtney Kampa
A man sits across from me, patterned silk padlock
at his neck and orders us whatever
people drink from…
at his neck and orders us whatever
people drink from…
Explore Poems: Loneliness
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- By Peter KlineIf we’re put here long enough, someone’s bound to learn something. The sweep of the second hand erases…
- By Cameron Awkward-RichIt is morning. Remember that.
It is morning and the house is quiet,
so quiet that I can, for the moment… - By Sarah Burgoynei say child but what i mean is now
still preferring the moss lawn to the
“superior” grass lawn my parents… - By Molly FiskYesterday I was so lonely
I could barely walk,
my friend being mobbed
by her grandchildren
as we made… - By Rickey LaurentiisWhy doubt I’d grow breasts a ‘Natural’ way?
Am I not ‘Real’ Flesh? Am I not enworthied sway
of that Biology? Not ‘Cis,’ you think me ‘alien’?
Loose? Do I so estrange? Wouldn’t I be, monstrous, the ‘Gorgon’
Lady with my two ‘new,’ added,... - By Elizabeth MetzgerHow much longer can we ignore the mushrooms?
Their shade is surprisingly matte
with no complexity. Why one is larger than another,
closer or farther apart,
I no longer think has any significance
for us
though so far we have let them live.
Part of me despises... - By Kim StaffordI guess you could call me broken,
says one. I’m still lonely, says another,
but now I can name it with a song.
In my poem, says another,
I can forget I am forgotten. Now
I understand being misunderstood,
says another. And another says,
in a bold,... - By José Olivarezso when i walk down the street, i hold hands
with the wind. there’s a chimney coughing
up ahead & a sky so honey, i could almost taste it.
a cat struts away from me & two yellow eyes
become four: just like that,
i’m... - By Audre LordeFor those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at... - By Gerald SternNothing by or for itself, the sound of
eggs hard-boiling in the hot water
echoed by the heavy rain that pours
down the broken spout, the cowardly lion’s
roar answered by the moos of the buffalo
the bloody mouth of the one
by the sharp and... - By Meg KearneyThe girl hunting with her father approaches
the strange man who has stopped at the end
of his day to rest and look at the lake.
Do you like geese? she asks. The man smiles.
The girl draws a webbed foot from her pocket
and... - By Camille RankineIn the half-light, I am most
at home, my shadow
as company.
When I feel hot, I push a button
to make it stop. I mean this stain on my mind
I can’t get out. How human
I seem. Like modern man,
I traffic in extinction. I... - By Dionisio D. MartínezTo the one who sets a second place at the table anyway.
To the one at the back of the empty bus.
To the ones who name each piece of stained glass projected on a white wall.
To anyone convinced that a monologue... - By Robert HaydenSundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.breaking.... - By Edna St. Vincent MillayWhat lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my... - By Charlotte SmithIs there a solitary wretch who hies
To the tall cliff, with starting pace or slow,
And, measuring, views with wild and hollow eyes
Its distance from the waves that chide below;
Who, as the sea-born gale with frequent sighs... - By Chase TwichellSometimes I long to be the woodpile,
cut-apart trees soon to be smoke,
or even the smoke itself,
sinewy ghost of ash and air, going
wherever I want to, at least for a while.
Neither inside nor out,
neither lost nor home, no longer
a shape or... - By Samuel Taylor ColeridgeSince all that beat about in Nature's range,
Or veer or vanish; why should'st thou remain
The only constant in a world of change,
O yearning Thought! that liv'st but in the brain?
Call to the Hours, that in the... - By Alfred, Lord TennysonPart I
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
The yellow-leaved waterlily
The green-sheathed daffodilly
Tremble in the water chilly
Round about...