Featured Topic: Dreams
Featured Product: Seasons
Featured Writer: poets better and more famous than me
Featured Form: Rondel
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A Closer Kind of Warm: a break-up-with-summer song
The tyrant sun with unforgiving light bends the boys and girls like the August wheat. He makes them strip their clothes and beg for night like mountains made immodest in the heat. Rustling in a windless night, they seethe and sweat in anguish—should they cut their...
Tomorrow Hunts: the worries of those passing their prime in idleness
The crescent moon encroaches on the day, a pale trespasser in the realm of sun. She will not wait her turn, she will not stay until the golden reign is fully done. The gleaming future will not stand in front but lurks behind you with a loaded bow; she is moon-browed...
Yet Do I Marvel by Countee Cullen
I doubt not God is good, well-meaning, kind, And did He stoop to quibble could tell why The little buried mole continues blind, Why flesh that mirrors Him must some day die, Make plain the reason tortured Tantalus Is baited by the fickle fruit, declare If merely brute...
Entropy
Afraid I'll become some sick and slack-jawed slouch, I beat back the Fall with a broom but the dust of me still lingers 'neath the couch; I toil and toil on the doorsteps of doom.
Praying in the Sanctuary of Snow
These twirling billions born in storms of grey descend forever from such unseen heights that Summer's sons are hypnotized to pray for Winter not to waste her wealth of white.
The Jewish Cemetery at Newport by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves, Close by the street of this fair seaport town, Silent beside the never-silent waves, At rest in all this moving up and down! The trees are white with dust, that o'er their sleep Wave their...
In the Park on the First Clear Day of Spring
There's something of Spring that makes us self-deceive, that makes-believe the world has never sinned. A dozen squinting Adams search for Eve through a sunlight that's not yet warmed the wind. Weary of winter, the clearing is brim full of hairless legs...
A Dante Aches for Beatrice—a Woman not his Wife
There is a soft and gentle wanting— to hold, even to touch, the painted hand. It is a shamed yet pleasant haunting— to reach, unseen to brush, the fallen strand. Her knee just shows between the boot and skirt and eyes flirt with the hemmed in edges of a beautiful...
A Sound of War in the Camp
His finger carved a sentence from the stone and the command carved a people from the whole. But they spilled an ink that settles in the bone when they ignored the scribblings of the scroll. While people beneath were busy fouling souls, casting a god they could not...
The Fixity of Birds
Song birds are silent as they wing their way unhindered through a clear and naked air but when, wing-wrapped, they weigh upon a branch, they breathe a morning prayer. Either body or voice will rise in song but never the two combined. For we flightless, this seems...
Attachment by Amy Doran
You will continue shattering. Your pieces will make a lamp shade. No, they will make a table. No, your pieces will make electrons And no matter how far apart they fly They will always fly in the same motion. Your shattered electron pieces will always. Your shattered...
We Wear the Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar
We wear the mask that grins and lies, It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,— This debt we pay to human guile; With torn and bleeding hearts we smile, And mouth with myriad subtleties. Why should the world be over-wise, In counting all our tears and sighs? Nay, let...
Self-Atonement: a wrist-cutter’s psalm
No motion carries here without my final vote for the meddler in my head, he sounds a lot like me; I hear no snake's hiss, no gravel in his throat. My will is not a raindrop carried mindless to the sea; and yet, it is my self I can't control and the devil of my...
Abram the Pagan
"You must leave your land, your gods. Take flight." The Voice was so unyielding, so obscure. How could he trust that whisper in the night beckoning the patriarch from his home in Ur? At the dead end of his doubts he could not— and perhaps it was only foolishness that...
Moss Kingdom
With fungal crown, King Oberon receives all the waste and the withering of time, sees the fall and the flowering of leaves then paints the river rocks all black with slime. Whole continents are nursed within a fallen log and the trees, evergreen, never shed their...