By Anastasia Taylor-Lind
It’s 9/11 the first time you stay.
In the morning you bring Taliban poems back to bed.
I drink cardamom…
In the morning you bring Taliban poems back to bed.
I drink cardamom…
Explore Poems: War & Conflict
Showing 1-20 of 1,368 poems
Filter Results
- By Sasha DugdaleThe downs are certainly lovely, although by mortal loveliness
did you mean they would disappear one day… - By Jayne CortezHarsh Cries From
The Tomb Of
Little Rock
Blown In The Soul
Of The Pyramids
Where The Sphinx
Keep Watch… - By Milan DěžinskýTranslated By Nathan FieldsIt is sixty-five years since Hiroshima,
they write. Should one cup a handful of water from a river,
there… - By Lev RubinsteinTranslated By Tatiana Tulchinsky & Philip Metres1
Now here I am! 2
So… 3
So here I am… 4
(Where have you been?
We’d given up all hope…) 5
So… 6
So … - By Sholeh WolpéTall, stiff and spiny.
Try to make it to the other side
and risk savage thorns.
We who left home in our… - By Saeed JonesThe end of the world was mistaken
for just another midday massacre
in America. Brain matter and broken… - By Anne CarsonIf I were an early person
I'd look for the limits of human wisdom
by going to sacred oak trees
or the local… - By Xiao Yue ShanI could tell you this: marigolds are a night flower.
in the hour of my birth there were men in the streets… - By Edward SalemThe Dome of the Rock was on fire, I thought. I saw people running out, shouting and fighting as smoke obscured the entrance. A long jet of water sprayed through the air—to put out the fire, I thought—then I smelled...
- By Edward SalemAcross the suffocating blackness, the waveless water
and a broad hush in the indecipherable wind,
Jordan’s hills were obscured by the night.
Sitting on the clumpy sand, I convinced myself
I could make out a few hills like bloated storm clouds,
a voidal Jordan on... - By Edward SalemThe dead Palestinian brother. I have lost
each of you, my personal friend and
sister and glass of cold water.
My firm hand gropes for
frozen rocks in the night.
I just want to sleep.
In the nightmare,
I slap your dead foreheads
with my blue and gold... - By Edward SalemI sat up in bed with my legs crossed
for too long, and when they started prickling
and feeling heavy, I felt like I could begin
to understand Jesus’s suffering.
I drove to a largely empty Jerusalem.
Almost a thousand years ago, rows of soldiers
had... - By Cyrus Console
Rotor wash, or the downward-flowing
Air by which our helicopters formed
Imprints in the jungle grass beneath
Now stands effectively for Vietnam
Because our understanding of that war
Omitted many things but not the wind
We bowed our heads and fled. In this case we
Refers effectively... - By Georg TraklAt evening autumn forests drone
With deadly weapons, the golden plains
And the blue lakes, above which somberly
The sun rolls down. The night
Embraces dying warriors, the wild laments
Of their shattered mouths.
But in the willow valley silently
The outspilled blood collects, red clouds
In which... - By Abhijit Sarmahmother hopes to tell me more about
tree-root trails, melodies woven out of winds
roaring down our ricefields on winter afternoons
& the soft pattering of a dying fawn’s hooves.
it’s a rainy night in her city of flaking frescos,
the last lot of bulbuls... - 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 H.D.Over and back,
the long waves crawl
and track the sand with foam;
night darkens and the sea
takes on that desperate tone
of dark that wives put on
when all their love is done.
Over and back,
the tangled thread falls slack,
over and up and on;
over and... - By Aria AberOver Skype, I try to document my mother’s
bald-shaved youth—she has a surplus in truths,
and science has proven what it had to prove:
every helicopter-screech I dreamed of was my mother’s first.
Rippling my dumb hand, I wake up in childhood’s crypt,
where prayer... - By Layli Long SoldierHere, the sentence will be respected.
I will compose each sentence with care, by minding what the rules of writing dictate.
For example, all sentences will begin with capital letters.
Likewise, the history of the sentence will be honored by ending each one...