By Adam O. Davis
1. If a house is haunted like a radio is haunted If a body is a radio of blood If a body of ghosts hums...
Explore Poems: For All Ages
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- By Countee CullenIf for a day joy masters me, Think not my wounds are healed; Far deeper than the scars you see, I keep...
- By Federico García LorcaGreen I want you green green wind green branches Boat on the sea and horse on the mountain Shadow on...
- By Dawn QuigleyTheir memory, do not let it lie fallow On the blue earth banks Which caught the 38 tears As they spilled...
- By Francisco X. Alarcónwords are birds that arrive with books and spring they love clouds the wind and trees some words are...
- By Joan HortonI hear it at night when I turn out the light. It’s that creature who’s under my bed. He won’t go away...
- By Shel SilversteinShe had the jitters She had the flu She showed up late She missed her cue She kicked the director She...
- By Lorine Niedecker
A monster owl
out on the fence
flew away. What
is it the sign
of? The sign of
an owl. - By William Carlos WilliamsI have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive...
- By Katerina Rudcenkova
Yes, I live inside the piano,
but there is no need for you
to come and visit me. - By Ron PadgettI’m in the house.It’s nice out: warmsun on cold snow.First day of springor last of winter.My legs run...
- By Liz WaldnerIf I would be walking down the roadyou told me to imagine and I would and finda diner kind of teacup...
- By Stuart MillsThey are building a shipin a fieldmuch bigger than I should have thoughtsensible.When it is finishedthere...
- By Henry ParlandMy hatwas run overby a trolleyyesterday.This morningmy coat took a walkto some placefar away.This afternoonmy...
- By Richard BrautiganO beautiful was the werewolf in his evil forest. We took him to the carnival and he started crying when...
- By Campbell McGrath
5am: the frogs
ask what is it, what is it?
It is what it is. - By Graham Foust
they own everything
- By Eileen Myles
Roads around mountains
cause we can’t drive
through
That’s Poetry
to Me. - By Maram Al-Massri
Knocks on the door.
Who?
I sweep the dust of my loneliness
under the rug.
I arrange a smile
and open. - By Richard BrautiganO beautiful was the werewolf in his evil forest. We took him to the carnival and he started crying when...