Poetry Magazine
FROM THE CURRENT ISSUE OF
Poetry Magazine
The hoot of being alive. Name it
whatever you
whatever you
like.
The hoot of being alive. Name it
whatever you
whatever you
like.
Poem
GratitudeBy Patrick Dundon
Poem
Is This My Last Ferry Trip?By Martha Silano
Poem
If Upon Me in My GardenBy francine j. harris
When we go together, what is the simple form we
make?
When we go together, what is the simple form we
make?
Poem
I am asked a question.By Jane Hirshfield
Poem
LaughterBy Rüştü Onur
Translated By Ulaş Özgün & Hüseyin Alhas
Poem
BetweenBy Adam Wolfond
You make the tender parts of me
sing.
You make the tender parts of me
sing.
Poem
The SignalBy C. Dale Young
Poem
LacaoBy Rosabetty Muñoz
Translated By Claudia Nuñez de Ibieta
Poem
Immature AnimalsBy Alafia Nicole Sessions
I did not know how beautiful we
are!
I did not know how beautiful we
are!
Poem
A rickety door, a back one or side, not stableBy Justin Danzy
Poem
WildfireBy Joan Kwon Glass
Poem
On a WalkBy Heather Christle
Recent Features from Poetry
Prose from Poetry Magazine
By Randall MannI want reading a poem to be a bit like risky sex.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
By Francisco Aragón & Laura VillarealWe must be deliberate in considering what we owe each other and how we care for and protect each other.
Prose from Poetry Magazine
By Katherine M. Hedeen & Víctor Rodríguez NúñezReaders must accept being co-creators.
From the Poetry Magazine Archive
- PoemBy Sherwin BitsuiOn limbs of slanted light
painted with my mind’s skin color,
I step upon black braids,
oil-drenched, worming
from last month’s orphaned mouth.
Winged with burning —
I ferry them
from my filmed eyes, wheezing.
Scalp blood in my footprints —
my buckskin pouch... - PoemBy Fatimah AsgharToday, I broke your solar system. Oops.
My bad. Your graph said I was supposed
to make a nice little loop around the sun.
Naw.
I chaos like a motherfucker. Ain’t no one can
chart me. All the other planets, they think
I’m annoying. They think... - PoemBy Kevin YoungOnce hunger
was my dance partner—
Now my diamond shoes
hurting my feet
& that my wallet won't
fit my 50s
are my chief complaints...
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History
Poetry was founded in Chicago by Harriet Monroe in 1912.
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