poetry
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National Poetry Month, Day 29: “I’m a Poet and I Don’t Know It” by Ariana Reines
I’m a Poet and I Don’t Know It I am so broke Maybe I am a poet I wonder.
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National Poetry Month, Day 28: “Casket Sharp” by Saeed Jones
Casket Sharp Your soft cough becomes prognosis. Soon, cigarette smoke is the inkblot test of the lung.
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New Rituals for Curbside Healing
The poems in Signs And Wonders have a moral and structural grace that is sometimes fueled by political anger or collective sorrow.
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National Poetry Month, Day 27: “The Accused Terrorist’s Wife” by Shara Lessley
The Accused Terrorist’s Wife The house foreclosed, she’s gone to his father’s home, carting her things, a pair of his shoes, their only daughter, sons. Water springs
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National Poetry Month, Day 26: “In the Rafters at Birdie’s Roadhouse” by Alison Pelegrin
In the Rafters at Birdie’s Roadhouse 504 forever. Hillbilly princess. FDNY. For a good time a hard man is good to find. Got nookie? Life is too short for bad moonshine.
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National Poetry Month, Day 25: “Squirrel” by Paul Lisicky
Squirrel The squirrel is in her little kitchen out by the tennis courts. The ceiling is too low for her, but that’s precisely the point. She wouldn’t want it any other way. How else to bear the peace of it,
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National Poetry Month, Day 24: “Letter to the Right” by Emma Trelles
I hope you never read my poems. / I do not care for the sweet wine you serve / warm from the pantry, or the email you sent / about a savior at the supermarket.
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National Poetry Month, Day 23: “Familiar” by Dean Rader
Familiar It was because my snot was frozen, it was because you spit out little chunks of H & H when I made that crack about the guy
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Disorientation, Disgust, and Killing flies
Michael Dickman’s poems inhabit a place in which “morning makes its way up the street as a loose pack of wild dogs” and we find ourselves—through his sharp pronoun use—feeling complicit in acts of violence that are committed in a…
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National Poetry Month, Day 22: “Long (dragon)” by Peggy Hamilton
Long (dragon) Once skin teaches you body’s not to feel with it grows to solve other problems fires get tired of burning every bed they’ve been in down ashes look so soft but you would never spend the night anyhow
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National Poetry Month, Day 21: “Eat the Sinew’s Disbelief” by Amy King
Eat the Sinew’s Disbelief You will never be great, no shirt, no shoes, no servitude. Just a regular Joe, Josephine who walks around, has thoughts, and makes way for Whitman. You’re John the Baptist, a footnote, not your own story.
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There’s Coffee On My Shirt, Not Blood
Seemingly masked in the two words of the title (Ghost this, Machine that), Ben Mirov has written an intimate, if cryptic, book of poetry.