By Mag Gabbert
A teacher once said chaos touches everyone, so that became my refrain.
Did we want to lose all we had…
Did we want to lose all we had…
Explore Poems: Verse Forms
Showing 1-20 of 944 poems
- By Andrew FrisardiPRIMEAt dawn, the shapes of cypresses in fog
Were fingers pointing up from graves, as if what's born… - By Karl KnightsThe zoo is tough terrain; hilly.
I wheel as fast as I can —
then Mum shouts ‘Keep up!’
I stop. ‘Hand me… - By William Butler YeatsA sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her... - By Sri ChinmoyUltimately everything
Becomes boring.
Even great miracles
Become boring.
Even the tremendous powers of… - By Cole Swensena river slips
in shifting leaves
sifting. a river sifts
and falls to pieces
in which not seen
... - By Jos Charlesits a secrete
the grls speeching mye hole /
inn 2 the lindens / wee go out
& playe footballe / verie nashenallie
how wee leeve a stall / piteus
wen the grls
speech me /
this is how u make a porno / ... - By Rajiv MohabirLook at your feet, so beautiful. Do
not step on the ground, filth will smear them;
your future will fill with pricks. He with a
fearful heart, understand dead. Death will dance
on your head — lift your eyes and see. I am
its servant,... - By Federico García Lorca1.
La cogida y la muerte
A las cinco de la tarde.
Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde.
Un niño trajo la blanca sábana
a las cinco de la tarde.
Una espuerta de cal ya prevenida
a las cinco de la tarde.
Lo demás era muerte... - By BazeedIn the hiding
hour of autophagy
ghosts hang out all day and talk to us.
An archival haunting demanding tribute:
half a lime for breakfast every day.
بشرٌ يئنّونَ من الألمِ
human voices keening in pain
تُشعلُ أجسادَهُمَ النارُ
their bodies, consumed by fire
light up the... - By Hari AlluriWhere are you now? Must we say farewell tonight? So many of us wonder.
God sobs in my arms, a wounded gazelle tonight. They stay for wonder.
Up in a pot of rice, up from a human zoo. Twisting, sleeping heads of... - By Ruth AwadDays of rain. The drey outside my window would keel
and the wind would plunder. My heart was valent
with possibility: I could be anyone now, half woman,
half asterism. Fragmental as a new year. Patron saint
of the rutilant and cindering. I could... - By David TaitA week of autumn snow, and today the sun,
the buildings fizzy with melting, the beggar
draping his sheets over the bank's homeless-spikes.
My daughter runs under the sycamore trees,
shouts look it’s still snowing, it’s still snowing,
clumps of old snow falling around her.
Who... - By James K. BaxterThe wish to climb a ladder to the loft
Of God dies hard in us. The angels Jacob saw
Were not himself. Bramble is what grows best
Out of this man-scarred earth, and I don’t chop it back
Till the fruit have ripened. Yesterday I... - By A. Van JordanLately, my friends ask me, out of love,
have I written about my mother,
who suffers under the storm of Alzheimer’s disease,
and I tell them, “I don’t write about my family,
never directly, at least.” To write this poem seems so
out of character... - By Kimiko Hahnif there is a river
more beautiful than this
bright as the blood
red edge of the moon if
i can conjure such
radiance and safety
as expressed shelter
then my task as woman
will be quenched.
yes, moon, yes, calendar
if there is a river
that will cleanse
my generous
innermost abyss,
then... - By Kimiko HahnBut how could Arthur go,
clutching his tiny lily,
with his eyes shut up so tight
and the roads deep in snow?
I don’t know how Arthur could go
with just a lily, no parka or boots.
Elizabeth’s question would follow
over the years, even after she’d... - By Kimiko HahnLacquer, wood, moss, rock, straw
Lacquer can be black or deep orange. A natsume, both a personal item and a high ranking tea utensil for tea powder, was named after its resemblance to the jujube. I have a plastic one I... - By Kimiko HahnThe child looks out the window at the peeling barn.
The mother sits on the roof and waves at her.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove.
The child has put away her Little Marvel Stove
because her grandmother is baking real bread.
The child... - By Kimiko HahnOver the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls—grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.
Yes, in disaster’s aftermath, court
is not royal accommodation,
more, the verb to court,
courting disaster on titanic liners
or inside houses built on stilts
along the salty coasts.
Over the mirrors meant
to reflect the...