By William Olsen
Observation isn’t serious play. It is living serious. Same heron. It’s used to us, we are as twilight…
Explore Poems: Joy & Contentment
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- By W. S. MerwinLate in May as the light lengthens
toward summer the young goldfinches
flutter down through the day for… - By Arvind Krishna MehrotraSet with raindrops, displayed
between the king’s mantle and the litchi tree,
was the cobweb I almost walked… - By Thomas TraherneI saw new Worlds beneath the Water ly,
New Peeple; yea, another Sky
And Sun, which seen by Day
Might things… - By Ada LimónIs it okay to begin with the obvious? I am full of stones—
is it okay not to look out this window, but to look out another?
A mentor once said, You can't start a poem... - By Ada LimónI pass the feeder and yell, Grackle party! And then an hour later I yell, Mourning dove afterparty! (I call the feeder the party and the seed on the ground the afterparty.) I am getting so good at watching that...
- By Rev. Robin G. WhiteThe feel of a much needed hug in a moment of sorrow
An unexpected helping hand from the stranger
The curl of the tiniest of fingers wrapped trustingly around your own
A gentle breeze on the cusp of Autumn
And the way a leaf... - By R. Erica Doyleletting the words fly like smoke uncurling from our mouths
we lie in bed with dykes ten years our junior, make
pot heaps to share, sleep in the same flannel sheets,
plot colored artist collaborations underground and not top 40,
draw the constellations from... - By David RoderickI wear a flower in my lapel.
I like the sweetness of its lie in my nose.
A carnation, the fool’s flower,
its heart a wilting empire.
In late-night editing sessions,
I imagine I’m planting flowers
in the sockets of eyes. Whatever helps
me reach our rigor... - By Tomás Q. MorínIn this life, there are stars
and there are stunt doubles.
Before I became one of those fathers
obsessed with memorizing his lines,
making peace with the Big Director
in the sky who doesn’t like ad libs,
before all that, I was the star
of my own... - By Amy M. AlvarezNaturally, broken glass, throbbing bass, a roll of bills and a paper bag passed between the hands of hustlers. Just as true: the rows of corn planted by the family at the end of the street. Even in this leaded...
- By J. V. CunninghamYou are the problem I propose,
My dear, the text my musings glose:
I call you for convenience love.
By definition you’re a cause
Inferred by necessary laws—
You are so to the saints above.
But in this shadowy lower life
I sleep with a terrestrial wife
And... - By Kiki PetrosinoSo I lean back & Redford asks, “Water warm enough?”
& I don’t answer because I’m holding my breath.
I don't know why he asks.
He never uses the faucet to shampoo my afro—just an old clay jar.
Redford fills the jar at the... - By Ada LimónI used to pretend to believe in God. Mainly, I liked so much to talk to someone in the dark. Think of how far a voice must have to travel to go beyond the universe. How powerful that voice must...
- By D. A. Powell“Anyway, it isn’t forever,” Chris said,
“eventually you’re dead.” And we laughed
Besides, everything is better now. Not us
but implants, blenders, children, heart attacks.
There’s never been a better time to be alive
than when you are. If you are. Black-throated
blue warbler says chewchewchewchewchewww
drawing... - By Gabriel RamirezI couldn’t be who I am
today if it wasn’t for you
being dead. It was time
for glitter, nail polish, and locs.
Glitter in my nail polish.
Glitter in my locs.
You wouldn’t have
loved me loving myself;
my joy rendered
inconvenience.
Sucked teeth keeping me
your grandson.
My love for... - By Susan BrowneI swim my laps today, slowly, slowly,
reaching my arms out & over, my fleshly oars,
the water silken on my skin, my body still able
to be a body & resting at the pool’s lip,
I watch other bodies slip through the blue,
how... - By Lucia CherciuEven the grocery list is a love poem, a prayer—
God, let me keep what I love.
Peaches, cheap. Books, brilliant—
mine so I can underline.
How aromatic the apricots,
how sharp the novels.
Together,
we have planted an orchard.
I don’t understand the word defensive:
are you supposed... - By Maurice MooreMaurice Moore
Moore, Maurice. “Sissy Dat Walk,” Ink on Paper, 19in x 24in, 2021.
Become! Bout 50-11 figures fill the center of the picture plane. Some be crouching, others duck walking and given dat femme realness. The lines are sketchy and rough...
