“into a film,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Ryan Eckes
a wonderful thing about philadelphia is / it’s not new york city
Poems
742 posts
“The Mathematician,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Carl Adamshick
The Mathematician She’s taken to sleeping late. Only recently have I come to stare on her as phenomenon.
“In the Pink,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Maureen Thorson
In the Pink I walk the beach by the Tickle Inn and I know that breakups suck.
“Disappearing,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Rob Griffith
Disappearing I’d like to cap this pen, lock the drawers, and take my coat off the chair. I’d stop the clocks at half-past two, then grab my keys
“Thousands are gathered outside the interior ministry…” a Rumpus Original Poem by Dora Malech
“Thousands are gathered outside the interior ministry…” Bloody lullabies soothe the centuries. Can’t see the cradles for the tops of trees but you know the rest: you can’t rest, poor…
“Scissor Half,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Jacqueline Waters
You were telling me your dream / at some point you started / just making it up
“Ode to Ross Watson,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Steve Fellner
Ode to the Painter Ross Watson Don’t imagine me as the woman who you replicated from the Vermeer
“Death, Is Always,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Amy King
Death, Is Always Turning my hair inside out, I only see Emma Bee making sense of excess, making something of it online, via high fashion, which shouldn’t be but is,…
“Kināyah,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Marthe Reed
Kināyah “[concerning] women, the sexual organs, defecation, various forms of uncleanliness and everything which is a bad omen” –Sandra Naddaff “when a woman desires something, no one can stop her”…
Permanent Water
You just texted me two cock pics It used to be more artful The way you did it, the composition. Like last week. It just stopped raining. I have a…
“A Little Sign,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Matthew Rohrer
When I was little / we ate a meal / at my great-grandmother’s farm.
Rumpus Original Poetry: A History of Melancholia: Glossary of Terms
beloved. The raison d'être of the melancholic's affliction. Consider the graceful line of his wool coat, its fabric dark against the towering snowdrifts.