Poems
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National Poetry Month at The Rumpus
This is the fourth time we at The Rumpus have celebrated National Poetry Month by running a new, original poem by a different poet every day of April (and sometimes a little beyond). You’ll be able to keep up with…
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“How clearly you can see some nights,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Katie Chaple
How clearly you can see some nights So many stars like salt crystals scattered on a tablecloth, the seeming blankness of space,
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“Winter Lottery,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Michael McGriff
Winter Lottery In the gray, frozen months, the pack rats moved into the garage and ruined everything.
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“That Old Desire,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Meghan O’Rourke
That Old Desire Was a fire licking and hot, a red fur with blue trim, like an Elizabethan ruff, if a ruff could be made
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“into a film,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Ryan Eckes
a wonderful thing about philadelphia is / it’s not new york city
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“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.
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“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.
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“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
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“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 babies.
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“Scissor Half,” a Rumpus Original Poem by Jacqueline Waters
You were telling me your dream / at some point you started / just making it up
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“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
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“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, along with every other thing, both uber- and central- Pacific—…