Below you'll find a list of all posts that have been tagged as “poetry”
a poem by Lisel Mueller What happened is, we grew lonelyliving among the things,so we gave the clock a face,the chair a back,the table four stout legswhich will never suffer fatigue. We fitted our shoes with tonguesas smooth as our ownand hung tongues inside bellsso we could listento their emotional language, and because we loved graceful profilesthe pitcher received a …
This lovely poem, “Chocolate,” was written by Rita Dove. (No relation to the Dove Chocolate bar.) Velvet fruit, exquisite squareI hold up to sniffbetween finger and thumb – how you numb mewith your rich attentions!If I don’t eat you quickly, you’ll melt in my palm.Pleasure seeker, if i let youyou’d liquefy everywhere. Knotted smoke, dark punchof earth and night and …
Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all’s over;I only vex you the more I try.All’s wrong that ever I’ve done or said,And nought to help it in this dull head:Shake hands, here’s luck, good-bye. But if you come to a road where dangerOr guilt or anguish or shame’s to share,Be good to the lad that loves you trueAnd the …
Ebb by Edna St. Vincent Millay I know what my heart is like Since your love died:It is like a hollow ledgeHolding a little pool Left there by the tide, A little tepid pool,Drying inward from the edge.
What is it about chocolate that inspires such poetry? Here’s one by Erin Keane about the bad kids in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory What they didn’t tell us, after we unwrappedthe lucky bar, was our place in the plot: stupid, fat, competitive, spoiled—at a madman’s whim.We were to make the blond kid look …
BY REGINALD GIBBONS The thick-walled room’s cave-darkness,cool in summer, soothesby saying, This is the truth, not the tautcicada-strummed daylight.Rest here, out of the flame—the thick air’sstirred by the fan’s fourslow-moving spoons; under the house the stonehas its feet in deep water.Outside, even the sun god, dressed in this lifeas a lizard, abruptly riseson stiff legs and descends blasé toward the shadows.
The Mediums It took a week for us to stop hearing the voices.Although they had been our constant companionsfor years by then, a steady stream of chatter,it reached the point where they became unbearable.Each message had become a death to us. Just a littleto start with, soft like the twitter of birds,not too intrusive perhaps, but then more insistentby the …
This is one of Pablo Neruda’s odes to ordinary objects. The odes are far from ordinary. Translated by Robert Bly. Maru Mori brought mea pairof sockswhich she knitted herselfwith her sheepherder’s hands,two socks as softas rabbits.I slipped my feetinto themas though intotwocasesknittedwith threads oftwilightand goatskin.Violent socks,my feet weretwo fish madeof wool,two long sharkssea-blue, shotthroughby one golden thread,two immense blackbirds,two cannons:my …
By Sandra Cisneros If peaches had armssurely they would hold one anotherin their peach sleep. And if peaches had feetit is sure they wouldnudge one anotherwith their soft peachy feet. And if peaches couldthey would sleepwith their dimpled headon the other’seach to each. Like you and me. And sleep and sleep.
by Cynthia Zarin, a poem about the things we carry. This morning I was walking upstairsfrom the kitchen, carrying yourbeautiful flowers, the flowers you brought me last night, calla liliesand something else, I am notsure what to call them, white flowers, of course you had no way of knowingit has been years since I boughtwhite flowers—but now you have and …