Poem Poems
Live your life with a purpose and don’t try to fit in the wrong crowd
by Christen Kuikoua
So precious yet so short
Life is indeed to us
Walking around in circles,
wasting around our time
Later, realizing that
Our selfish runs weren't important
Praising the wrong things
Wishing a fairytale life
Well guess what, our world ain't dreamtopia
......
Latcho Drom
by Betsy Sholl
Nowhere to nest, to rest their heads,
like starlings scattered by gunshot—
a flock of gypsies.
When the town runs them out,
tosses scarves and pots into the street,
then sweeps,
they even roost in an old tree—nail up
......
Epistle To Dr. Arbuthnot
by Alexander Pope
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said,
Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide;
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
......
Digression On Number 1, 1948
by Frank O'Hara
I am ill today but I am not
too ill. I am not ill at all.
It is a perfect day, warm
for winter, cold for fall.
A fine day for seeing. I see
ceramics, during lunch hour, by
Mir6, and I see the sea by Leger;
light, complicated Metzingers
and a rude awakening by Brauner,
......
our very own patron saint
by Bogdan Dragos
he was a doctor
Goddammit, they were looking at
a doctor
He came into the casino in a suit,
the same suit every day and night
dark gray
shiny with grease around the
elbows and lower back
smelly
......
Mother Call me Ayatullah Nurjati (After Learning the Legacy of the Saint)
by Ayatullah Nurjati
Mother called me Ayatullah Nurjati—two words I made into a blind map for this ever-heavier life.
Back then, I thought only she strung them together.
“Ayatullah,” she said, “Sign of Allah.”
I learned to read it in the wrinkles of my father’s brow,
in prayers stumbling from our mouths too busy complaining.
“Nurjati,” she whispered, “Light of the Teak.”
I thought it an old metaphor,
until I realized: teak isn’t valued in its youth.
......
The Corridor of Truth (A Sonnet)
by Ayatullah Nurjati
A poet does not chase the fleeting fame,
For life is more than just persisting breath;
Mere words without true ground are weak and lame,
But truth revealed outlives the grasp of death.
Though oft condemned, he walks with honesty,
His ego’s shadow rests but fades away;
Each line a prayer shaped through constancy,
Rewarded by God’s grace at close of day.
......
the silence between lines
by Rikske Kessner
Unread poems
are unwritten poetry —
ink still dreaming in the vein,
pages breathing in the dark,
their margins uncreased
by any gaze.
They live in the quiet tide
before the pen descends,
......
Poems for money and no kicks for free
by Rikske Kessner
Poems for Money, and No Kicks for Free
Verse 1
The air smells of printer’s ink and cold coffee,
and the page stares back like a shopfront window
where the mannequins wear my metaphors,
price tags swinging from their wrists.
I used to think the words were a kind of weather —
blowing in from nowhere,
......
poem is a verb
by Rikske Kessner
Poem Is a Verb
Strike flint to flame, let the lines take flight,
They bite at the dark, they shoulder the light;
No throne for the poem, no chair for its nerve—
It walks till it bleeds, for a poem’s a verb.
......
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Delmore Schwartz (12 poems about Poem)
8 December 1913 - 11 July 1966 / Brooklyn / New York / United States -
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