Poem
By Amy M. Alvarez
Naturally, broken glass, throbbing bass, a roll of bills and a paper bag passed between the hands of hustlers. Just as true: the rows of corn planted by the family at the end of the street. Even in this leaded...
Category
Summer
Showing 1-20 of 251 results
- PoemBy Reginald Dwayne Betts[An Outline for a Film]
A woman leans against a man who leans
against a brick wall watching cars stop like dead men
on this one-way street. Some dude glares
like O-Dog from Menace, his face towards some street
we'll never remember where a man... - PoemBy Alvin FeinmanThis this will it always be, and why
To ever argue for: here walking
In its life, or sprawled, or loitering
Down shallow valleys of the lawn:
The trees that are there
The pigeon bobbing through
Its fallowgray ellipse of ground—
The comfort of this ground
Is physical:... - PoemBy Linda Rodriguezthat I smile too widely,
grinning really, and laugh
too loud and often; that I walk
with spring and sensual sway;
that I stretch myself and twist
like a cat
baking in the backyard
brightness; that my brain is sun-bleached,
all rule and thought boiled away, leaving
only sensory... - PoemBy Nikki GiovanniI always like summer
best
you can eat fresh corn
from daddy's garden
and okra
and greens
and cabbage
and lots of
barbecue
and buttermilk
and homemade ice-cream
at the church picnic
and listen to
gospel music
outside
at the church
homecoming
and you go to the mountains with
your grandmother
and go barefooted
and be warm
all the time
not only... - PoemBy Kwoya Fagin MaplesMy brother still bites his nails to the quick,
but lately he’s been allowing them to grow.
So much hurt is forgotten with the horizon
as backdrop. It comes down to simple math.
The beach belongs to none of us, regardless
of color, or money.... - PoemBy Annie FinchOur voices press
from us
and twine
around the year's
fermenting wine
Yellow fall roars
Over the ground.
Loud, in the leafy sun that pours
Liquid through doors,
Yellow, the leaves twist down
as the winding
of the vine
pulls our curling
voices—
Glowing in wind and change,
The orange leaf tells
How one more season... - PoemBy E. E. Cummingswhat if a much of a which of a wind
gives truth to the summer's lie;
bloodies with dizzying leaves the sun
and yanks immortal stars awry?
Blow king to beggar and queen to seem
(blow friend to fiend:blow space to time)
—when skies are hanged... - PoemBy Joseph MasseySober for once, for what—
for the words to budge.
We spent summer propped up
by each other's stuttering.
There are seasons here
if you squint. And there's
relief in the landscape's
sloughed off cusps of color
fallen over the familiar
landmarks, the familiar
trash—things that last. - PoemBy Jose Hernandez DiazA mango fell from a tree into a jaguar’s paws. It was late summer. The jaguar devoured the fruit and ran into the ocean. The ocean was turquoise like the August sky. The jaguar swam underwater for a...
- PoemBy Jose Hernandez DiazA jaguar sat in a tree. It was midsummer. The sun was shining fiercely. The jaguar was a golden color with plenty of brown spots. Then the ghost of Emiliano Zapata walked by. He was in full uniform,...
- PoemBy Robert WrigleyMore oblique the eagle’s angle
than the osprey’s precipitous fall,
but rose up both and under them dangled
a trout, the point of it all.
Festooned, a limb on each one’s
favored tree either side of the river,
with chains of bone and lace of skin
the... - PoemBy Kit FanIt was summer in Hokkaido.
The forest stole the wind
and I swallowed my footsteps.
Nobody came to the springs.
Butt naked I sat... - PoemBy Sy HoahwahIn the month of cleaning family plots, I learned football among graves. All summer, fangs were plentiful. I fed only on fruit and acorns next to a nest built in a discarded doll marking the 50-yard line.
... - PoemBy Alyse KnorrBetween us bobs the baby, solemn in her infant wet suit.
The pool is the only place where
screaming does not indicate terror.
The neighbor’s pansy beds—O to lie down in those beds
and doze. Greener than grass, says Sappho,
originator of envy.
My... - PoemBy Robert FrancisWhat I remember is the ebb and flow of sound
That summer morning as the mower came and went
And came again, crescendo and diminuendo,
And always when the sound was loudest how it ceased
A moment while he backed the horses for the... - PoemBy Dana GioiaI can imagine someone who found
these fields unbearable, who climbed
the hillside in the heat, cursing the dust,
cracking the brittle weeds underfoot,
wishing a few more trees for shade.
An Easterner especially, who would scorn
the meagerness of summer, the dry
twisted shapes of black... - PoemBy Pimone TriplettDrippingly by grips, this humus and perlite nearly sings
through my fingers
circling the ditch lily’s heat-sunk side, anthers frayed, fallen.
Sift. Learn your footprint.
If occasion, rise to. Another bloom, opposite, grows blood
orange its splayed
open hand, in shade, still opulent,... - PoemBy Jack SpicerWhat are you thinking about?
I am thinking of an early summer.
I am thinking of wet hills in the rain
Pouring water. Shedding it
Down empty acres of oak and manzanita
Down to the old green brush tangled in the sun,
Greasewood, sage, and spring...