Upcoming Poets
Square Lips
1. Open
the book's
mouth.
Flip through
each tongue:
ink breath.
2. Read.
Eyes with four equal sides
are required.
3. Stop.
A sentence:
a dark smile,
and its letters:
black teeth.
4. Continue reading.
But don't
smile back.
Or else
the verb
and subject
will eat you.
- Orlando White
the book's
mouth.
Flip through
each tongue:
ink breath.
2. Read.
Eyes with four equal sides
are required.
3. Stop.
A sentence:
a dark smile,
and its letters:
black teeth.
4. Continue reading.
But don't
smile back.
Or else
the verb
and subject
will eat you.
- Orlando White
Carwyn
Love the white things the
paper towels the milk the
sky sometimes. Take water
and sand separately into your
mouth. Read them more
times than you really wish to.
Go to a small box and speak
to the religious attendant of
your choice. A broom will
do wonders. Pick me up
when I ring. Carry these
phone books upstairs your
mother doesn't need to. Feel
this—do you—the vibrations in
my knees. Build two kitchens there
will be less mess than if there is
only one. One downstairs
one up. Tell me what
you're thinking. Please do.
-Amanda Nadelberg
paper towels the milk the
sky sometimes. Take water
and sand separately into your
mouth. Read them more
times than you really wish to.
Go to a small box and speak
to the religious attendant of
your choice. A broom will
do wonders. Pick me up
when I ring. Carry these
phone books upstairs your
mother doesn't need to. Feel
this—do you—the vibrations in
my knees. Build two kitchens there
will be less mess than if there is
only one. One downstairs
one up. Tell me what
you're thinking. Please do.
-Amanda Nadelberg
After the Blast
It happened again just now, one word
snagging like fabric on a barbed fence.
Concertina wire. You said: I didn't see the body
hung on concertina wire. This was after the blast.
After you had stood in the divot, both feet
in the dust's new mouth and found no one alive.
Just out of the shower, I imagine
a flake of soap crusting your dark jaw, the phone
cradled like a hand on your bare cheek.
I should say: love. I should say: go on.
But I'm stuck on concertina--
the accordion's deep inner coils, bellows,
lungful of air contracting like a body caught
in the agony of climax.
Graceless, before the ballooning rush
of air or sound. The battering release.
-Elyse Fenton
snagging like fabric on a barbed fence.
Concertina wire. You said: I didn't see the body
hung on concertina wire. This was after the blast.
After you had stood in the divot, both feet
in the dust's new mouth and found no one alive.
Just out of the shower, I imagine
a flake of soap crusting your dark jaw, the phone
cradled like a hand on your bare cheek.
I should say: love. I should say: go on.
But I'm stuck on concertina--
the accordion's deep inner coils, bellows,
lungful of air contracting like a body caught
in the agony of climax.
Graceless, before the ballooning rush
of air or sound. The battering release.
-Elyse Fenton
Dead, but Not Forgotten
Still Here
I been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,
Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!
-Langston Hughes
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,
Looks like between 'em they done
Tried to make me
Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
But I don't care!
I'm still here!
-Langston Hughes
A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-Edgar Allen Poe
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow--
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-Edgar Allen Poe
Messy Room
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
-Shel Silverstein I knew it looked familiar!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
-Shel Silverstein I knew it looked familiar!