By Elise Paschen
Lily Gladstone confides she wore my great
grandmother Eliza’s blankets in three scenes.
I don’t remember…
grandmother Eliza’s blankets in three scenes.
I don’t remember…
Explore Poems: Photography & Film
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- By Douglas KearneyWas Him, once fini, on the beams,
prior, He's hewer of thorntree.
Could stretch tilapia and ewer,
dole … - By Major JacksonThe screen's fabrications remain. A film
shot never fails, sailing through the century
like a black V … - By Jean ValentineHe was shoveling sand
at the edge of the water, his heavy black glasses
glittered with rain:
"Don't you… - By Langston HughesThe Roosevelt, Renaissance, Gem, Alhambra:
Harlem laughing in all the wrong places
at the crocodile … - By Louise ErdrichAugust and the drive-in picture is packed.
We lounge on the hood of the Pontiac
surrounded by the slow… - By Josh BellKung-Fu, a couch, and I might reach
emptiness tonight, stuck on that Midwest
hoo-doo, counting cemetery… - By Michael PalmerI know a silent movie star named Jane.
She speaks without moving her lips.
She once starred in a film … - By Robert HaydenAt Dunbar, Castle or Arcade
we rode with the exotic sheik
through deserts of erotic flowers;
held in the… - By Timothy DonnellyAnd though we had fed long and well at the table
the talk always turned to whether to go on
regardless… - By Rita Dovelate, in aqua and ermine, gardenias
scaling her left sleeve in a spasm of scent,
her gloves white, her… - By Mike DoughtyHe was jailed for cruelty to insects, and his agent wasn’t answering the phone, so he stayed awake in the cell all night, pictures jumping around his head of the cops and the blowdryer they took as evidence. He used...
- 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 Paisley RekdalHow horrible it is, how horrible
that Cronenberg film where Goldblum’s trapped
with a fly inside his Material
Transformer: bits of the man emerging
gooey, many-eyed; bits of the fly
worrying that his agent’s screwed him—
I almost flinch to see the body later
that’s left its... - 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 Josh Bell“You can’t kiss a movie,” Jean-Luc Godard said, and this is mostly true, in that you cannot initiate the kiss. The Movie could initiate the kiss if The Movie wanted, as it is so much taller, leaning in, no way...
- By Sally Wen MaoIt is natural to live in an era
when no one uttered––
and silence was glamour
so I could cast one glance westward
and you’d know what I was
going to kill. Murder... - By Amy ClampittThe lit night glares like a day-glo strawberry,
the stakeout car beside the hydrant is full of feds,
and the ikon of our secret hero(ine?), atop the
feckless funnypaper mesa we try to live in, is that
poor dumb indestructible super-loser Krazy Kat.
O Innocence,... - By Holly Mitchell1.
After the beginning of the gallop, there are counts when the horse is in the air, her
legs withdrawn, a diamond shape.
This is called suspension.
2.
Her name is Sallie Gardner.
She’s by Vandal, out of Charlotte Thompson, Kentucky bred, of Irish pedigree, a
Birdcatcher.
Now... - 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...