A poem by Paul Auster

Landscape Myopia - Lindsey Alexander (From Rodeo in Reverse)

The panoramic view—I am a part
of each scene too, but I can’t stand back far
enough to get it

down or take it in. Closer, easier, a snowy egret tips its hat
to me, proverbially. My epiphany?
My periphery and blind spot—the fly-away blur, the not-quite end.

From I Am Not Famous Anymore: Poems after Shia LaBeouf

The Artist, Looking at Himself

Does the static of water
do the same work
as the instincts of dreams?
And if so,
can the air be raw
like a knotted grip?
I am not the choice you make
but the mask you agreed upon,
every thought a tool
and the cold collapsing
around us
like blood in the sky.

Source: “#INTERVIEW” by Shia LaBeouf and Aimee Cliff, labeoufronkkoturner.com, October 2014

I am not famous anymore: Poems after Shia LaBeouf - Erin Dorney

Claudia Rankine - Stop and Frisk

For Every One - Jason Reynolds

Charles Bukowski poem

Nets - Jen Bervin

A poem by Joshua Jennifer Espinoza

Ai - Mexico, 1940

At noon today, I woke from a nightmare:   

my friend Jacques ran toward me with an ax,   

as I stepped from the train in Alma-Ata.

He was dressed in yellow satin pants and shirt.   

A marigold in winter.

When I held out my arms to embrace him,   

he raised the ax and struck me at the neck,   

my head fell to one side, hanging only by skin.   

A river of sighs poured from the cut.

Ai (1947-2010)

A Southern Wind - Rickey Laurentiis

Quiet as a seed, and as guarded,
our walking took the shape of two people
uneasy together. I had the feeling
that on the anxious incline of that hill we gave the hill
a reason to be. What loneliness, what
privacy was in that? Hey, I said. Race me to the top?
The is when I nearly tripped on the sly earth,
an earth shaping to itself again. A stone?
But, no, picking it up, bringing the wormed-through
black flesh of it to my height, I knew it for 
an apple and gnashed and let the juices freak and down
my face. Don't ask me why I did it. I know. 
I know there are poisons like these we have 
to feed each other, promises we try to hold--
though how can they be contained? I wanted to give you 
what I could of me. To be personal, without 
confession. I wanted to believe in the constancy of that hill.
Daylight was tiring. The air, secret, alone.
I won, you said. You did, I said. So we stood there.

Patti Smith

Emily Dickinson

Wilderness - Patti Smith

Do animals make a human cry
when their loved one staggers
fowled dragged down
the blue veined river

Does the female wail
miming the wolf of suffering
do lilies trumpet the pup
plucked for skin and skein

Do animals cry like humans
as I having lost you
yowled flagged
curled in a ball

This is how
we beat the icy field
shoeless and empty handed
hardly human at all

Negotiating a wilderness
we have yet to know
this is where time stops
and we have none to go

Patti Smith. Auguries of Innocence. London: Virago, 2005.

Bough Down - Karen L. Green

Karen L. Green. Bough Down. Siglio Press, 2013.

Poet Not to Be Read at Your Wedding - Beth Ann Fennely

Poem Not to Be Read at Your Wedding

You ask me for a poem about love
in place of a wedding present, trying to save me
money. For three nights I've lain
under the glow-in-the-dark-stars I've stuck to the ceiling
over my bed. I've listened to the songs
of the galaxy. Well, Carmen, I would rather
give you your third set of steak knives
than tell you what I know. Let me find you 
some other, store-bought present. Don't
make me warn you of stars, how they see us
from that distance as miniature and breakable
from the bride who tops the wedding cake
to the Mary on Pinto dashboards
holding her ripe, red heart in her ands.

Beth Ann Fennely. Retirado daqui..

Billy Collins

Tyler Knott Gregson - from the typewriter series

Retrieved from here.

"Hotel Lullaby" - Srikanth Reddy

No matter how often you knock

on the ocean the ocean

just waves. No matter

how often you enter the ocean

the ocean still says

no one’s home. You must leave

her dear Ursula. As I write this

they polish the big  

chandelier. Every prism

a sunset in abstract

or bijou foyer depending

on where you stand.

They take it apart every Fall

& call it Spring cleaning.

They bring me my tea.

They ask me my name

& I tell them — Ursula,

I don’t even know

how to miss who you left.  

So many cabanas

to choose from tonight

but only one view.

It’s the sea.

What keeps me awake

is the sound of you sleeping

beside me again my dear Ursula,

Ursula, Ursula dear — then

you’re nothing

but waves & I break.

Srikanth Reddy. Poema publicado na Jacket2. Retirado daqui.

Frequency Modulation - Raymond McDaniel

you are listening to

the transmission via seed pearl, aural irritant

clockwork and sparkgap ultra high and superlow

precious black opal crystal and glass shudders and sings

broad cast scattered the seeds among the apocrypha

each agent at land or sea satellite or space

direct conversion of royal register and groove

high in fidelity to

our regenerative radio hisses and shouts

everything that cannot be owned belongs now to us

irradiant waves oscillate below visible light

to arrive and reside requires no medium but occupies vacuum

and air transformational emission

follow your radiotelegraph

we are your conductor our amplitude varies

we fluctuate the frequency

we are not subject to static interference

we embed the subcarrier

hush y’all

you need not know that language if you know this sound

 

Salwater Empire. Coffee House Press, 2008.