By Sri Chinmoy
Within, without the cosmos wide am I;In joyful sweep I loose forth and draw back all.A birthless, deathless...
Explore Poems: Quatrain
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- By Marwa Helal
say i ‘well
particular in one no to
backed ive time first the isnt this
disaster a of out us - By Emily BrontëO transient voyager of heaven! O silent sign of winter skies! What adverse wind thy sail has driven...
- By Federico García Lorca1. La cogida y la muerte A las cinco de la tarde. Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde. Un niño trajo...
- By Federico García Lorca1 The Goring and the Death At five in the afternoon At the stroke of five The boy brought the white ...
- By Robert WrigleyMore oblique the eagle’s angle than the osprey’s precipitous fall, but rose up both and under them dangled...
- By Langston HughesHold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams...
- By Ursula K. Le GuinAUTUMN gold of amber red of ember brown of umber all September MCCOY CREEK Over the bright shallows...
- By Lani O'HanlonThat was the year we drove into the commune in Cornwall. “Jesus Jim,” mam said, “back up quick they’...
- By Sarah GambitoI am afraid of your transcendental death. When people say think of a man. I think of a brown man. Sometimes...
- By Anahera GildeaHere’s what I had in mind, kōtiro, this clipping at words like overgrown maikuku — return the blankets...
- By Steven ToussaintMust be a stumbler, bleeder, as some floccus remains here, carded into ragged sleeves by barbed wire...
- By Erik KennedyTwo feet of snow at my parents’ place, in another season. Here, the cicadas sing like Christian women...
- By Cornelius EadyHow many books now have the word Last In their title? Or worry, or some dangling variation Of mistake? Or empire burning...
- By CM BurroughsDo I have to dress up or can I wear jeans? Dear Joaquin, casual Sunday is a plus! Can a woman be fully...
- By Robert AdamsonMemory was the room I entered down a long corridor Thrown by the white drugs of pain though pain Was...
- By Clare JonesThe new root of the fern is the part you eat in famine. Harsh words are spoken, but they’re not the ...
- By Jorie Grahamhere. Have been for centuries. No, longer. Everything already has been. It’s not a reasonable place,...
- By Chen JunEarly in the morning a dough rises from the bowl curling upward. He clenches his fists of bean paste...
- By A. R. AmmonsI wonder if I know enough to know what it’s really like to have been here: have I seen sights enough...