by Jeff Clark a circuit， bled memory a séance of the veins， a liquid hinge Deceit， the tones of dreamed sceneries defaced by a single face and ...
by Lucille Clifton when I watch you wrapped up like garbage sitting， surrounded by the smell of too old potato peels or when I watch you in your old m...
by Celia Bland My father was a sidewise Jack， always in profile， a hand on his rod. His pack was a Destroyer， said my mother， where he played ping-pon...
by Adrienne Rich Miracle's truck comes down the little avenue， Scott Joplin ragtime strewn behind it like pearls， and， yes， you can feel happy wit...
by Guillaume Apollinaire （Translated by Donald Revell） Under Mirabeau Bridge the river slips away And lovers Must I be reminded Joy came always after ...
by Marilyn Nelson Which reminds me of another knock-on-wood memory. I was cycling with a male friend， through a small midwestern town. We came to a 4-...
by Edwin Arlington Robinson Miniver Cheevy， child of scorn， Grew lean while he assailed the seasons； He wept that he was ever born， And he had reasons...
by Edgar Lee Masters I am Minerva， the village poetess， Hooted at， jeered at by the Yahoos of the street For my heavy body， cock-eye， and rolling walk...
by David Groff Not the poet-though yes， a poet， aspiring. Old. At Big Cup he regards us slickened with testosterone， his eyes entertained. Though his ...
by Mónica de la Torre Victor got a real sense of power from making his own raisins. He'd buy pounds and pounds of grapes and leave them to ...