Poems
Poem
By Nathanael Jones
In this song a drum takes itself apart. To keep pace move along tracks, dissolve into the points where mechanized production still retains a pulse. Skipping on and yet skipping the dance floor. Permanence is played at, implied, an arrhythmia as pavement. Perform arching gestures and observe an equally visible inversion take shape…
Poem
By Nathanael Jones
At another work site in a sister borough, a neighbor hears me coughing and tells me she has been having…
Poem
By Nathanael Jones
A shallow depth of field produces flames in a dimmed distance, harlequin patterned jit or juke, footwork…
Poem
By Nathanael Jones
How a barn owl is never just a single barn owl.
Judgment lapsing into echo, collective
elastic pulling…
Judgment lapsing into echo, collective
elastic pulling…
Poem
By Nathanael Jones
We paint all these rooms white without ever questioning the reasoning behind the labor. This fractured tongue hiding in the rafters. With it I saw holes in the ceiling between furring strips, collect grains of primer, plaster. Raster graphics embed the epithelial horizon with macros. Cue goosebumps. The battlefield in miniature …
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A Malaysian verse form in quatrains with an intricate repeating pattern.
Poem Guides
Poem GuideBy Stephanie BurtTracing the many conflicting meanings of the word "blood."
Poem GuideBy Caitlin KimballThis poem finds its author not raving but frowning.
Poem GuideBy Robin EkissLucille Clifton celebrates self-discovery in “won’t you celebrate with me.”
From the Poetry Magazine Archive
- PoemBy John Lee ClarkA Deaf Blind poet doesn’t like to read sitting up. A Deaf Blind poet likes to read Braille magazines on the john. A Deaf Blind poet is in the habit of composing nineteenth-century letters and pressing Alt+S. A Deaf Blind poet is a terrible...
- PoemBy Suzi F. GarciaA muster of peacocks show off their tails, but instead of feathers, knives. And smoke where their voices should be. I breathe gray until it fills my throat, choking on tulle. On the loudspeaker, a mutation of a voiceover, a...
- PoemBy Raymond Antrobus1
My ear amps whistle like they are singing
to Echo, goddess of noise,
the raveled knot of tongues,
of blaring birds, consonant crumbs
of dull doorbells, sounds swamped
in my misty hearing aid tubes.
Gaudí believed in holy sound
and built a cathedral to contain it,
pulling...
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Pantoum
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Scansion
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Sijo
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Dactyl
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Invocation