By River 瑩瑩 Dandelion
you had to know the currents, & the sun
stay shallow to keep warm in the waters.
you had to believe you…
stay shallow to keep warm in the waters.
you had to believe you…
Explore Poems: Pantoum
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- By River 瑩瑩 Dandelionwe wore watermelon husks to hide
lost cargo floating east to hong kong
water lilies & crickets our last… - By Kimiko HahnIambic lines drafted in silt
are revised when glaciers melt
so verses ending in heroic couplet
are more epigram than sonnet.
Revised when glaciers melt,
continents submit to a warning.
The land is more epigram than sonnet
—no—more erasure than given form.
As continents admit the warming,
the coasts... - By Natalie E. IllumA swimming pool hotter than bathwater.
Chlorine haze. My mother along the edge
encouraging me, with my Curious George, to swim.
Though I liked the Man with the Yellow Hat better.
Chlorine hazy and my mother at the edge.
Swim teacher says my legs are... - By Kiandra JimenezGranma cautioned in a kitchen off Century and Hoover:
Never throw your hair away. Burn it. Till yellow
cornbread bakes and greens release pot liquor,
her garnet-polished fingers unraveled each cornrow.
Never throw your hair away, burn it till yellow
flames flick up and turn... - By John YauAs you may have inferred, Ka Pow is not a spicy chicken dish
Meanwhile, you are an accident waiting to repurpose yourself
Who are you to mix up languages? This is not a smorgasbord
You have to remember that you are a cylinder,... - By Chip LivingstonAccept my need and let me call you brother,
Slate blue oyster, wet sand crustacean,
In your hurrying to burrow, wait. Hover.
Parse opening’s disaster to creation’s
Slate, to another blue-eyed monstrous sand crustacean,
Water-bearer. Hear the ocean behind me,
Pursued, asking to be opened, asking... - By Donald JusticeOur lives avoided tragedy
Simply by going on and on,
Without end and with little apparent meaning.
Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes.
Simply by going on and on
We managed. No need for the heroic.
Oh, there were storms and small catastrophes.
I don't remember... - By John Ashbery1.
Research has shown that ballads were produced by all of society
working as a team. They didn’t just happen. There was no guesswork.
The people, then, knew what they wanted and how to get it.
We see the results in works as diverse... - By Natalie DiazHe sat cross-legged, weeping on the steps
when Mom unlocked and opened the front door.
O God, he said. O God.
He wants to kill me, Mom.
When Mom unlocked and opened the front door
at 3 a.m., she was in her nightgown,... - By Randall MannIf there is a word in the lexicon of love,
it will not declare itself.
The nature of words is to fail
men who fall in love with men.
It will not declare itself,
the perfect word. Boyfriend seems ridiculous:
men who fall in love with men
deserve... - By Evie Shockleydreaming the lives of the ancestors,
you awake, justly terrified of this world:
you could dance underwater and not get wet,
you hear, but the pressure is drowning you:
you’re awake, but just terrified of this world,
where all solids are ice: underwater boogie,
you hear,... - By Sasha SteensenPerhaps the universe is an extinguished building
with blue banners strung along
and the forest, more like a commodity
bordering bushes and asphalt,
something else to string our blue banners on.
Never was restoration swifter:
the leafless trees, the asphalt
less splintered and more splendid.
Never was restoration... - By Hailey LeithauserO, she says (because she loves to say O),
O to this cloud-break that ravels the night,
O to this moon, its mouthful of sorrow,
O shallow grass and the nettle burr’s bite,
O to heart’s flare, its wobbly satellite,
O step after... - By Randall MannThis is what he dreams of:
a map of burned land,
a mound of dirt
in the early century’s winter.
A map of burned land?
A country is razed
in the early century’s winter.
And God descends.
A country is raised
because of industry.
And God descends,
messengers rush inside
because of... - By Blas FalconerThe driver has no knife. He has no knife, no,
you think, and lower your head into his car.
A ride in the rain? The dark clouds bellow.
You saw him drinking at the local bar,
you think, and lower your head into his... - By Maria HummelDays you are sick, we get dressed slow,
find our hats, and ride the train.
We pass a junkyard and the bay,
then a dark tunnel, then a dark tunnel.
You lose your hat. I find it. The train
sighs open at Burlingame,
past dark... - By Carolyn WellsOf making many books there is no end,
Though myriads have to deep oblivion gone;
Each day new manuscripts are being penned,
And still the ceaseless tide of ink flows on.
Though myriads have to deep oblivion... - By A.E. StallingsSleep, she will not linger:
She turns her moon-cold shoulder.
With no ring on her finger,
You cannot hope to hold her.
She turns her moon-cold shoulder
And tosses...