By Yi Li
I love cherries.
The fruit, juice, jam,
blossoms, prints on a summer
dress, in a black forest cake,
the …
The fruit, juice, jam,
blossoms, prints on a summer
dress, in a black forest cake,
the …
Explore Poems: Types/Modes
Showing 1-20 of 1,969 poems
- By Shara McCallumWhy yu always ask stupid question, ee?
The man call mango head because him head
shape like mango. What… - By Hershman JohnLast Easter, I gave my mother-in-law a large, brown, simple ceramic
Navajo water pot, shiny with pine… - By Robert Browning1.My first thought was, he lied in every word,
That hoary cripple, with malicious eye
Askance to watch… - By William ShakespeareYe elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves;
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do… - ByWORKSHOP 1: DIAGRAM OF A PORTRAITWORKSHOP 2: EDITING DURATIONWORKSHOP 3: SEEINGWORKSHOP 4: STARINGWORKSHOP…
- ByWORKSHOP 1: DIAGRAM POTRET WORKSHOP 2: EDITING DURAS WORKSHOP 3: MELIHAT WORKSHOP 4: MENATAP
WORKSHOP… - By Ama CodjoeWhat if, Betye, instead of a rifle or hand
grenade—I mean, what if after
the loaded gun that takes two… - By Sasha DugdaleThe downs are certainly lovely, although by mortal loveliness
did you mean they would disappear one day… - By Megan DentonWhich way to the monster cage? I am in my god body now—
in my sandy foxhole
sat backwards in a chair… - By Martha SilanoBecause why not? Why not take the smashed pinecone
of my life, render it in purple? Why not dream of… - By Alice OswaldIt's a rush, a sploosh of sewage, twenty thousand cubic metres being pumped in, stirred and settled …
- By Noelani PitersI
remember I exist
at the braiding of
consciousand con
sumer,Kanaka
and culpable,
desire anddesired… - By Mag GabbertThe effect—for those three hundred years, while the cupid remained hidden—was a kind of silence.
Like… - By Charles ReznikoffIn a world where each man must be of use
and each thing useful, the rebellious Jews
light not one light… - By Russell AtkinsOh didn’t it """ """ """
"" ""
"" ""
"" ""
"
"" "
""
""
"" ""
rain
""
""
"" "" ""
Oh did
""" """ n’t… 
- By William Butler YeatsI
What shall I do with this absurdity —
O heart, O troubled heart — this caricature,
Decrepit age … - By William Butler YeatsI have heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow,
Of poets that are…