October 2011
1 post
Can someone please give me a reason to continue trying to use Tumblr when it is such a huge pain to share poems with proper formatting?
June 2011
2 posts
May 2011
2 posts
April 2011
1 post
And as Far as Abu Ghosh
And as far as Abu Ghosh we were silent
and as far as old age I will love you
at the foot of the hill of horrors,
in the den of the winds. And in Sha’ar Ha-Gai
the angels of the three religions stepped down into
the road. Faith in one god is still heavy. And with words
of pain I must describe the fig trees
and what happened to me, which wasn’t my fault. Sand
was blown into...
March 2011
2 posts
A Majestic Love Song You are beautiful, like prophecies,
and sad, like those that come true,
calm, like the calmness afterward.
Black, like the white lonliness of jasmine.
With sharpened fangs: she-wolf and queen. Your very short dress is in fashion,
your weeping and laughter come from ancient times,
perhaps from some book of other kings.
I’ve never seen foam at the mouth of a war horse,
...
“Read, read, read. Read everything - trash, classics, good and bad, and see how...”
– William Faulkner (via creationoftheday)
February 2011
3 posts
Beginning With His Body And Ending In A Small Town
It’s true I can’t forget any part of him, not the long vein rising up along the underside of his cock, or the brushy hair around his balls, dank star of the asshole, high arches of his feet, strawberry mole on his left cheek- imperfection that made his face exquisite- and the freckles scattered over his back, white insides of his wrists, I...
“On Major and Minor
Major things are wind, evil, a good fighting horse,...”
A Meditation Concerned With What You Might Be Meditating About, Ramona
A picture’s worth a thousand worms, Ramona.
The stars are the vestigial nipples of your Lord.
Darling, you have clipped the hedges even thrice
since I parked my shaving kit in your medicine cabinet,
and it’s time for us to speak, yet gently, again, about
how very much I mean to you. Mumbledy-peg,
Ramona....
January 2011
2 posts
Selected Recent and New Errors by Dean Young :... →
read this poem right now
Great essay by Etgar Keret on ANGRY BIRDS! →
December 2010
3 posts
Page/Stage Poet Ryler Dustin Discusses Memorable... →
Last Your Hair Dried
Last your hair dried.
When we were already far from the sea,
when words and salt, which mixed on us,
separated from each other
with a sigh,
and your body no longer showed
signs of terrible antecedents.
In vain we forgot a few things on the beach,
as a pretext to return.
We did not return.
And these days I remember the days
on which your name was fixed like a...
November 2010
3 posts
for my spoken word folks... →
“Now in its twenty-ninth year of publication, Indiana Review is a non-profit literary magazine dedicated to showcasing the talents of emerging and established writers. Our mission is to offer the highest quality writing within a wide aesthetic.”
SABRA SESSIONS VOL 1....free Israeli dance/hip-hop... →
October 2010
5 posts
Love
Tall deer upon snowy hills,
their silver horns hooked into the moon.
The moon is benevolent.
My mother guards them. Follows them on foot.
Forest wolves must not find their spoor.
She blows from the snow their scent.
My mother has been dead for years,
but her love roams through space
with arms open to the wind.
She lulls the unrest of the streets to sleep,
conjures up a...
Track 5: Summertime by Jericho Brown
as performed by Janis Joplin
God’s got his eye on me, but I ain’t a sparrow.
I’m more like a lawn mower …no, a chainsaw,
Anything that might mangle each manicured lawn
In Port Arthur, a place I wouldn’t return to
If the mayor offered me every ounce of oil
My daddy cans at the refinery. My voice, I mean,
Ain’t sweet. Nothing nice about it. It won’t fly
Even with Jesus...
why the hell can i not post a poem without the formatting getting all screwy?
September 2010
7 posts
Across a Great Wilderness without You by Keetje...
The deer come out in the evening.
God bless them for not judging me,
I’m drunk. I stand on the porch in my bathrobe
and make strange noises at them—
language,
if language can be a kind of crying.
The tin cans scattered in the meadow glow,
each bullet hole suffused with moon,
like the platinum thread beyond them
where the river runs...
May 2010
1 post
You Are The Place You Cannot Move You wake up healthy but you don’t feel right. Now everything’s backwards and you’re thinking of someone to blame. And you do, you’re lucky, drinking coffee was easy, the traffic’s moving along, you’re like everyone else just trying to get through the day and the place you’re dreaming of seems possible— somewhere to...
April 2010
2 posts
Slaughter on 10th Ave.
FINDING PAUL MONETTE, LOSING HIM It’s just two days since I read you two days since your Elegies for Rog grabbed me in the stacks at the Brooklyn branch grief eating through the binding like dragon blood dripping through four stone floors into the charming restaurant in the basement I checked you out and brought you home so I could love you and pity him in private and cry for him and you and...
March 2010
12 posts
The Invisible Birds of Central America
BY CRAIG ARNOLD
For Alicia
The bird who creaks like a rusty playground swing
the bird who sharpens the knife the bird who blows
on the mouths of milk bottles the bird who bawls like a cat
like a cartoon baby the bird who rubs the wineglass
the bird who curlicues the bird who quacks like a duck
but is not a...
FOUR TET LIVE IN NEW YORK CITY....listen →
Strawberry
I am going to fail. I’m going to fail cartilage and plastic, camera and arrow. I’m going to fail binoculars and conjugations, all the accompanying musics: I am failing, I must fail, I can fail, I have failed the way some women throw themselves into lover’s arms or out trains, fingers crossed and skirts billowing behind them. I’m going to fail the way...
Visiting ____________________________________
In the shape of a human body I am visiting the earth; the trees visit in the shapes of trees. Standing between the onions and the dandelions near the ailanthus and the bus stop, I don’t live more thoroughly inside the mucilage of my own skull than outside of it and not more behind my eyes than in what I can see with them. I inhale whatever air the...
this short-short is pretty goddamn funny.
http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2010/2/23nelson.html
A HISTORY OF ORIGAMI
by Bob Hicok
two women in three days
cried on the green bench in the park
where i found a dollar
folded into a boat.
i thought it was the crying bench and cried
on the crying bench
when it became available.
i cried
by thinking of all the people
...
1959, Alabama Sacred Harp, recorded by Alan Lomax....
Track 5: Summertime
as performed by Janis Joplin
God’s got his eye on me, but I ain’t a sparrow. I’m more like a lawn mower …no, a chainsaw, Anything that might mangle each manicured lawn In Port Arthur, a place I wouldn’t return to If the mayor offered me every ounce of oil My daddy cans at the refinery. My voice, I mean, Ain’t sweet. Nothing nice about it. It won’t fly Even with...
At Last the New Arriving
Like the horn you played in Catholic school the city will open its mouth and cry
out. Don’t worry ‘bout nothing. Don’t mean no thing. It will leave you stunned
as a fighter with his eyes swelled shut who’s told he won the whole damn purse.
It will feel better than any floor that’s risen up to meet you. It will rise
like Easter bread, golden and familiar in your...
