By Sasha Pearl
I’m in Shartlesville
Eating air-chilled wings in the sleeper cab
I took the contract because the devil…
Eating air-chilled wings in the sleeper cab
I took the contract because the devil…
Explore Poems: Travels & Journeys
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- By Daniel HalpernThe redolence of rose and new road.
The attar of grass, recently cut.
The fish-whiff of anchovy.
The spinning… - By Whitney KooBeing a woman of multiple bags, I may not have anything.
When portability really means lack of capacity… - By Hershman JohnDear young Deer Spring and Towering Houses
Follow a Diné elder down a rabbit hole:
My Pembroke crest… - By Robert Browning1.My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch… - By BashōTranslated By Lucien StrykWake, butterfly—
it's late, we've miles
to go together. - By Shereen AkhtarIn our first house-let in London, she drew on the tablecloth to create
a calligraphic feast. Our friends… - By Xiao Yue Shan1
listen carefully—there is land or there is water,
and a time where
you may mistake one for another.
there… - By Li-Young LeeI can hear in your voice
you were born in one country
and will die in another, and where you live is where… - By Martha SilanoIs this the last time I’ll admire the guys
in their neon-yellow slickers, guiding us
to our parking spots… - By Mairead Small StaidThrough the oculus of the bus terminal at Boston’s South Station, light falls
for a hundred feet. A … - By Rüştü OnurTranslated By Ulaş Özgün & Hüseyin AlhasOh God I have neither a house nor a garden
Nor a boat in the ocean
My head is in the pineapple-smelling… - By Rose AusländerTranslated By Carlie HoffmanOur ship
without flag
belongs to no country
never arrives
water citizens
we travel
day and night
… - By Rose AusländerUnser Schiff
ohne Fahne
gehört keinem Land
kommt nicht an
Wasserbürger
wir reisen
in den Tag
in die… - By Rüştü OnurNe evim var Tanrım ne bahçem
Ne okyanusta kayığım
Başım ananas kokan bulutlarda
Ananas kokan sularda… - By William Butler YeatsI
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees,
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music... - By Jorie GrahamThe blades like irises turning very fast to see you completely—steel-blue then red where the cut occurs…
- By Ada LimónIs it okay to begin with the obvious? I am full of stones—
is it okay not to look out this window, but to look out another?
A mentor once said, You can't start a poem... - By CAConrad“this is your
captain” Frank says from the cockpit
“all passengers wishing to bail out
any time during our flight
it
is
too
late
I have shredded the parachutes to confetti
in celebration of our arrival” - By Richard BlancoQue será, el café of this holy, incorporated place,
the wild steam of scorched espresso cakes rising
like mirages from the aromatic waste, waving
over the coffee-glossed lips of these faces
assembled for a standing breakfast of nostalgia,
of tastes that swirl with the delicacy...