Category: Poetry
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Legacy
Adam stretches his arm The tip of his finger, Few inches shy of the Immortal— Mirroring the painter and his brush Reaching for the ceiling chapel Praying for resurrection— Or was it the other way around? Did Michelangelo intend to show An old God, aided by angles, Bent on reaching progeny, Reincarnation,…
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The Alchemy of Advice
For Rhina E That poem that you have to write will make you write it, you told us, eventually. Before it even is, it makes us ache inside? Is that the way it gets to be, like other fruits of creativity? As seeds spawn trees, so, for the simple sake of what is not, one…
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Split Apart
Ash shall mark my forehead; my lips shall feast upon stone— Lest fragments of breath fill me up; I’ll be cold and as dusty as bone. Let wine wet my forehead, let scales seal my eyes, let my hair be tangled in name— Let life bring me verses of hearts recognized; ignited twin spirits of…
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To Moor in Greenness of Early May
You feel gratitude for taking a walk in the meadow, like a brown bee drifting, to shun the fragrance of 5G networks— for the grass blades’ tenderness and caring. For the chance to fall with pale pink petals, lie in the clearing like a drunken cork, lie there long enough that, from your nostrils, some…
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we pick out our plots one afternoon
i want so badly to wither away with you to get sick and slow we were red and crying five days apart and i know you don’t want to get old but my mother says time’s hand blows soft against lovers one day our bodies will cave in and i’ll fold myself into you to…
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Rays of Starlight
Rays of starlight, scattered far, Come, join together in the night, A beacon for the ones who are In search of strength or hope or light. Bring a light to those who mourn, In memory of the one they lost. And comfort those whose hearts are torn, All those who in some storm are…
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damned girls
our mothers are given the hospital beds farthest from the other patients they say the nurses can tell, can figure out the damned girls from how the stomach molds around our damned bodies the indent we make around the belly button yes, we are life-sucking before we are life yes, our first words are short…
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Beyoncé, William Carlos Williams, and Poetic Stamina
The Third Law of Thermodynamics states that Beyoncé’s visual album Lemonade must be viewed as well as heard, or American culture as we know it will cease to exist. If you haven’t seen it, well, you’re breaking the law. But those of us in the clear can listen to the sixth season of the Dissect…
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Very much I need to be
Very much I need to be left alone, so I can figure out why no one speaks to me I’ve been learning to work out in my stomach what I cannot work out in my heart, or head I have transferred, I think all of my distress to my gut & my gut feels awful
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The Will
“Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word death, And again death, death, death, death . . .” – Walt Whitman, Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking Have heard sermons in the shape of waiting. Have wondered if God meant everything created as if creating always has a purpose. Have seen change in passing /witnessed…
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Totem
On the black bull with curved horns a pudgy little man sits cross-legged Control of passions, my father said. A girl and boy take turns somersaulting over bulls, placing hands on the back flipping between the horns. Playing with danger, my mom said. Another voice calls, Come here, says Selene, the bull-horned moon…
