Rumpus Original Poems
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National Poetry Month: Day 16. “The Blue” by Camille Dungy
The Blue One will live to see the Caterpillar rut everything they walk on—seacliff buckwheat cleared, relentless ice plant to replace it, the wild fields bisected
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National Poetry Month: Day 15. “Stonecrop” by Don Share
Stonecrop In the crop of stone, your ink was ripe.
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National Poetry Month: Day 14. “My Father Finally Says Out Loud the Word I’ve Only Heard Him Think” by Stacey Lynn Brown
My Father Finally Says Out Loud the Word I’ve Only Heard Him Think Calling it a rehab center doesn’t change this nursing home, doesn’t daub dry the drool or bring the unfocused wheelchair bound back
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National Poetry Month: Day 13. “Epilogue” by Ben Mazer
Epilogue It is youth that understands old age and your repulsion is but a projection an image of the loathing you obtain.
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National Poetry Month: Day 12. “An Excursion” by Mary Biddinger
An Excursion I wrote your name backwards on my hand until it hurt.
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National Poetry Month: Day 11. “Schematic” by T. R. Hummer
Schematic Inside the machine is another machine which refers to the machine enclosing it. So he touches her hand, and the image of a child emerges.
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National Poetry Month: Day 10. “Gulls at Todd’s Point” by Annie Finch
Gulls at Todd’s Point Shivering, knowing how lines of the tide use seaweed, and sea-drift, and sea-touch (and bone) to etch with, I wait to be marked on the sand
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National Poetry Month: Day 8. Three Poems by Elisa Gabbert
We Have Lost Our Systems of Meaning If it’s cool to be a geek, we have lost our systems of meaning. This was always the goal. We seek methods of being terrified. We want it to be art, so we…
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National Poetry Month: Day 7. “King: April 7, 1968” by Geoffrey Brock
King: April 7, 1968 We had wanted, at least, to touch your sleeve. We brought both babies as to a christening. —Van K. Brock, “King” We stood in line for hours to see his body. My parents said they knew…
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National Poetry Month: Day 6. “Say Something” by Katrina Vandenberg
Say something about the old neighbor who lives alone, the woman no one has seen in years, if at all. Say she cracked her yellowed shade and spoke to you, soon after you moved in, mid-winter. Change the locks,
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National Poetry Month: Day 5. “Truth Has Two Faces and the Snow Is Black” by Mahmoud Darwish
Today’s poem is a translation of a poem by the late Mahmoud Darwish by Fady Joudah. It appears in the collection If I Were Another. Truth Has Two Faces and the Snow Is Black Truth has two faces and the…