By Samuel Gregoire
My delirium is a transformocean Rocking me like the seven thousand waves That brought Wangolo to Ziltik...
Explore Poems: Fairy-tales & Legends
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- By Norman Finkelstein# Listen to the children who know their way about the forest and return with stories which the thief...
- By UnknownHeyla! We have a story about the Spear-Danes, from the old days when they were big and their kings showed...
- By UnknownOft him anhaga are gebideð, metudes miltse, þeah þe he modcearig geond lagulade longe sceolde hreran...
- By Unknownþat it apertly was apayed for profite þat he feld, and [wrouȝt] buxumly by þe bestes wille in wise as...
- By UnknownLeodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife; willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð. Ungelic is us...
- By Nancy LeeIn this story the cockroach is the man, the curtain my girlhood, the creamed corn spilled by the mother...
- By Jehanne DubrowYou remember the mermaid makes a deal, her tongue evicted from her throat, and moving is a knife-cut...
- By Hannah Copleyi Otherwise known as peewit, otherwise known as tew-it, otherwise known as Vanellus vanellus of the ...
- By Lo Kwa Mei-EnWhen the mirror swings open, it calls me obscenely shapely. A ruby wing slaps the glass. Soft smear. Since, like the drowning...
- By Clare JonesThe Inaccessible Island Rail lives in Atlantis, with two black feet on the black plateau. It might be...
- By Michael FarrellEverything we do and say in patriarchy can be traced back to “Strangers in the Night.” Your faded jeans...
- By Lily ZhouSaturday. The good bread set out for the dogs to eat. The rabbit hurt on milk & tall willows that I’...
- By Richard GarciaFirst the people had to invent ladders. No one had ever seen a ladder. Once they had ladders they invented...
- By Devin JohnstonWe gathered in a field southwest of town, several hundred hauling coolers and folding chairs along a...
- By Alyssa Moore
- By Angela Narciso TorresIf you go to bed hungry, your soul will get up and steal cold rice from the pot. Stop playing with fire...
- By George SterlingMy mother the queen is dead. My father the king is old. He fumbles his cirque of gold And dreams of ...
- By Wallace StevensSister and mother and diviner love, And of the sisterhood of the living dead Most near, most clear, ...
- By Nam Lei Kubla Ché, dreaming of ancient Egypt, ate his hyacinths and was marvelous. Wherever you are is what...