Mass of Incandescent Gas
Poem submission by spontaneouspoetry Oh sun up high, you bright and burning mass, so luminescent, with your incandescent gas. You warm the earth, so kind and cheerful, you make the vampires so utterly fearful. At times your light is white and pale, at others, your yellow warmth does not fail. I look to you, as I lay upon the grass, my eyes are blinded, the light does not pass. The...
People don't talk enough.
Poem submission by tokyoshuynh conversations held in whispers, they keep their thoughts as secrets, emotions nonexistent. people don’t talk enough, enough for them to feel to feel - what is it to feel? to steal a glance into the eyes of another, the life of another, people are afraid to feel, they are scared to embrace the emotions they are blessed with, they run away from what makes us...
Mary Jo Salter's "Peonies"
Beyond the merely pink and pretty, a great flower poem can deliver a powerful challenge, or, as in Mary Jo Salter’s “Peonies,” an uncanny arrival at floral abundance that is only in part familiar—it blooms with startling freshness in the right language. - Knopf Poetry Team *** Peonies Heart-transplants my friend handed me: four of her own peony bushes in their fall disguise,...
Poem submission by rhymingrimer.tumblr.com My empty stomach grumbled in acetic discontent, So through the kitchen, to the cupboard, searching I had went. But what I saw on oaken doors, whose shelves were always stocked, Was barren, stark depletion, and it faced me, and it mocked. But luckily, those bags of air had crumbly, crunchy chips, And when I sought those salty specks, delighted were mine...
The Singing of Un-Praised Birds
Poem submission by ukuleleboy96.tumblr.com To me you are the brightest star that shines above the sky, You are the air that grasps my lungs as your beauty meets my eye, To me you are the greenest grass, the flowers on it’s side, You truly are the sweetest grape, the softest sounding tide, I’d like to think this love I have, I can share with you one day, But just now my hopes...
Poem submission by Tricia Callahan This is still life. She is still born. Still, she was born. This is still life. Her phantom flutters your belly and you no longer need to sleep on your side, so still, you lie flat on your back, palms on skin are flat, for the first time. Willing and wallowing and wailing. Defeated, deflated. With hallowed eyes, we’re willing your crawl back to life, to...
John Milton's "At a Solemn Music"
A poem for Easter day from the great John Milton (1608-1674), whose wish that we “keep in tune with heaven” was most certainly a religious one, but is equally valid as a poetic desire. - Knopf Poetry Team *** At a Solemn Music Blest pair of sirens, pledges of heaven’s joy, Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ,...
Exorcising the Ghost of You
Poem submission by thetommytimes The pain from yesterday lingers on, a recurring nightmare that last for eons. You said you’ll love me true, But you left me blue. I was a terrible lover, that I knew. But remaining true, I never once withdrew. I was mean, I was blunt. So I guess, that honesty shredded us apart. 5 years I fought, It ended up nought. Struggling with a pessimist,...
Poem submission by Robert L. Phillips The fields swayed green as an emerald ocean As we marched heads proud away, Only to have them hung with regret For that which we’d lost and never again regained; For our lives had grown calloused And we ourselves grown old, While the fields remained young and green by comparison.
When you are old and grey
Submission by The Voices Project Click here to view a short film from Australia that features W.B. Yeats’ “When You are Old and Grey”.
Poem submission by Joshua D. Nightingale A philosopher walking through a wood is a sight you really must see. His feet don’t quite work like they should. They swish, they swoosh, along the autumn alley Trudging along; without way for clock’s cogs, caring not, are too busy. Yes, while a thinker’s feet shamble slow their mind is a whole different story. It races along those golden paths,...
J. D. McClatchy's "Mercury Dressing"
The title poem of J. D. McClatchy’s most recent collection brings us his vision of Mercury, the God of thievery and travel, swift bearer of messages in his winged sandals. - Knopf Poetry Team *** Mercury Dressing To steal a glance and, anxious, see Him slipping into transparency— The feathered helmet already in place, Its shadow fallen across his face (His hooded sex its...
Yellow and Red
Poem submission by charmingnostalgia.tumblr.com Last night I dreamt Of yellow and red Orange grinned Where our paths met We walked quite a way We talked and we sang Your laughter like bells Chimed as it rang The surrounding air was sprinkled with mist Coated with warmth Contentment and bliss Your hand in mine Was like the sun on the snow Melting away The bittersweet cold But...
The Rabbit and the Bird
Poem submission by Chris Ferchen Humid June day. A little girl plucks dandelions; hums a happy tune. High in the sky, she notices a rabbit and a bird waltzing above the trees. The animals slide across the cornflower sky, dancing too close to the sun. “No,” the girl pleads, “don’t go, please stay.” She runs over to the patio where her parents sit and talk and sit and talk and— The little...
Edward Hirsch's "Green Figs"
The impossibility of religious faith has been a theme in the work of Edward Hirsch over the years; yet in the presence of doubt, in the experience of yearning, in encountering a small yield of sweetness, he finds something perhaps equivalent, or faith enough. “Green Figs” seems appropriate reading for Good Friday as well as the first seder of Passover tonight. - Knopf Poetry Team ...
Poem submission by Marna Ashburn Krajeski The recital hall is packed and I don’t know how to play the piano. Today is the exam and I haven’t been to class. I’m late for the test, the airport, the tournament. I’m on a slow bus that stalls at every turn. I have no music, no shoes, no ticket. The show is starting and I’m not ready, not where I’m ...
Poem submission by Benvenuto Garisto My eyes are made of glass, my bones are without mass. My heart is made of soil, my blood will always boil. My hair is made of silk, purer than a mother’s milk. X and Y have come together, ground together into leather. This is how I am made, manufactured, cannot trade. This is how I am made, laid to rest, diamond grade.
The Seasons - "Spring"
Poem submission by Nathan Skky Let us be Spring — with flowers in our hair and sap in our veins and the song of Life on our lips, loosed as a babbling brook and birdsong. Let us be joyous with the sun pouring from our eyes; with the wind whispering words in our ear as we dance, swaying like the trees in the breeze. Yes, let us be Spring with rose-petal skin and eyes so green which pierce the...
Poem submission by innana.tumblr.com A double yellow line Our polar bodies If not attractive Then at any rate, convincing The way you breathe Is greed itself Your nostrils widening This is the main mistake Everyone makes: Confusing imagination For intellect, And collectively failing To exhale innana.tumblr.com