By Thomas Henry Smith
E Ihowā Atua,O ngā iwi mātou rā,Āta whakarangona;Me aroha noa.Kia hua ko te pai;Kia tau tō atawhai;Manaakitia...
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- By Thomas BrackenGod of Nations at Thy feet,In the bonds of love we meet,Hear our voices, we entreat,God defend our free...
- By R. L. SwihartThe young man says, “Alan can do anything he wants”“Not fly,” I sayThe young man returns a puzzled look...
- By Cornelius EadyI’m here to tell you an old story. ThisAppears to be my work. I live in the world,Walk the streets of...
- By Karisma PriceThe Realization of a Negro’s Ambition requires melatonin & the soft dying body of a monkey face orchid...
- By Toi DerricotteWhen relatives came from out of town,we would drive down to Blackbottom,drive slowly down the congested...
- By Cornelius EadySome folks will tell you the blues is a woman,Some type of supernatural creature.My mother would tell...
- By Sri ChinmoyWithin, without the cosmos wide am I;In joyful sweep I loose forth and draw back all.A birthless, deathless...
- By Corey Van Landinghamwas, according to Virgil, always a fickle, unstable thing. Woman. Wyf. Merger of wife and man. To indicate: not-girl. Not...
- By Bertrand N. O. WalkerHush thee and sleep, little one, The feathers on thy board sway to and fro; The shadows reach far downward...
- By Bertrand N. O. WalkerLonely, open, vast and free, The dark’ning desert lies; The wind sweeps o’er it fiercely, And the yellow...
- By Bertrand N. O. WalkerFor ages long, my people have been Dwellers in this land;For ages viewed these mountains, Loved these...
- By Suzanne RancourtI can remember my father bringing home spruce gum.He worked in the woods and filled his pocketswith ...
- By Ama CodjoeI don’t like being photographed. When we kissed at a wedding, the night grew long and luminous. You ...
- By Li-Young LeeSad is the man who is asked for a story and can’t come up with one. His five-year-old son waits in his...
- By Sylvia ChanI want to begin this poem with two stories:1. In 1984, my mother was pulled over for speeding in a rural...
- By Joyce KilmerNow by what whim of wanton chanceDo radiant eyes know sombre days?And feet that shod in light should...
- By Richard SikenDriving, dogs barking, how you get used to it. bow you make the new street yours.Trees outside the ...
- By Emily Wilsonstripped batting of cloud glimpsed ligaments dusk coming up under lithographic, nib-hatchings instruments...
- By Felicia ZamoraWhere wor{l}d & the tangible object of that wor{l}d collide. My brain thinks traces & again, Singh’s words at ...