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: Memory & Nostalgia
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- By Li-Young LeeWhen the big clock at the train station stopped,
the leaves kept falling,
the trains kept running,
my mother… - By Felicia Dorothea HemansSee’st thou yon gray gleaming hall,
Where the deep elm-shadows fall?
Voices that have left the earth
… - By Li-Young LeeLi-Young, don’t feel lonely
when you look up
into great night and find
yourself the far face peering
hugely… - By William Butler YeatsMidnight has come and the great Christ Church bellAnd many a lesser bell sound through the room;And …
- By W. S. MerwinLate in May as the light lengthens
toward summer the young goldfinches
flutter down through the day for… - By Remica Bingham-RisherBut for the grace of God
one might begin and
this must be the life of a woman. I will barely touch the… - By Ada LimónMy brother holds a snake by its head. The whole
length of the snake is the length
of my brother’s body. The snake’s head
is held safely, securely, as if my brother
is showing him something in the distant high grass.
I... - 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 JP HowardIf I should ever forget you,
this is my love note to you
You were loved
You were somebody’s lover
You were loving
You held parts of all the women you loved,
somewhere deep in your generous heart
You were heartbroken
You were a heartbreaker too, girl
Sometimes you... - By John MurilloFor me, the movie starts with a black man
Leaping into an orbit of badges, tiny moons
Catching the sheen of his perfect black afro.
Arc kicks, karate chops, and thirty cops
On their backs. It starts with the swagger,
The cool lean into the... - By Toi DerricotteTo be born woman is to know—...
- By Richard BlancoQue será, el café of this holy, incorporated place,
the wild steam of scorched espresso cakes rising
like mirages from the aromatic waste, waving
over the coffee-glossed lips of these faces
assembled for a standing breakfast of nostalgia,
of tastes that swirl with the delicacy... - By Georg TraklFull of harmonies is the flight of birds. The green woods
Have closed about the stiller huts at evening;
The crystal meadows of the stag.
Darkness soothes the plashing of the brook, the moist shadows
And the flowers of summer, ringing lovely in the... - By Georg TraklAt evening they bore the stranger into the death parlor;
a scent of tar; the faint rustling of red sycamores;
the dark flight of jackdaws; guard was set up on the square.
The sun has sunk into black linen; again and again this... - By Lynn EmanuelLove is boring and passé, all that old baggage,
the bloody bric-a-brac, the bad, the gothic,
retrograde, obscurantist hum and drum of it
needs to be swept away. So, night after night,
we sit in the dark of the Roxy beside grandmothers
with their shanks... - By Kevin PruferThe brutality of those two men
who broke into her apartment
and murdered her boyfriend,
... - By Tristan TzaraTranslated By Heather Greensenseless here’s the man with the crystal contractions
with the rumor of sand with a doll’s past tense
at the hollow step in a bed of distress
nevertheless present at the passage of spring spring Tristan Tzara wrote this poem during the summer of... - By Maurya SimonDelirium in the downtown mall today:
Burt Reynolds! All the henna-haired girls
sneer, while their mothers, enthralled, say,
“I saw you in this, I saw you in that–
you were marvelous, simply... - By Ted HughesI climbed through woods in the hour-before-dawn dark.
Evil air, a frost-making stillness,
Not a leaf, not a bird,—
A world cast in frost. I came out above the wood
Where my breath left tortuous statues in the iron light.
But the valleys were draining...