Category: Poetry

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Poetry by William Haine

When I was seventeen
I had sparse sideburns, brand new shirts,
and too much cologne.
I slept with girls because it had to happen.
At eighteen I got naked at parties

A Girl Walks Into A Bar

a poem by Amy Pimentel

He says
my curls entice him
He says
the paleness of my face attracts him
He says
his hands want to hold my ass
He says
his mouth wants to lick my breasts

Litany for Silence

a poem by Rachelle Cruz

After Gabrielle Calvocoressi

My mother in her flesh nightgown and I swallowed silence.
The bedroom door left ajar and I swallowed silence.
A book of refusal and I swallowed silence.
My sister’s corded laughter and I swallowed silence.

A Chat with Feature Lauren Schmidt

I lie a lot. My poems often start with observation—literally writing down what I see and hear—but that’s not always enough. I find that writing poetry allows me to wonder and ask questions, and that’s what I was doing in these two poems [inspired by The Dining Room], a place that was rife with material. I have become much less afraid to invent things for the sake of poetry, but it always starts with some truth.

Poems by Lauren Schmidt

Her Name is Sarah

When Randy drifted in for dinner with her baby
tangled in the rosary scars of her arms,
pressed against the dust of her breast,
everyone wanted to see. They softened
their eyes, their smiles, the way people do
when they look on a baby sleeping,
a baby who has not cried in two days,
a baby whose eyes ooze a thick glue,
whose lips are latched in a palsied twist.

Last Night,

I watched my fear of life
tie one end of a long piece

of twine around its neck
and the other end to a roof beam

before it sat down
and went to sleep forever

(poetry by Nahshon Cook)

The Energy Engine of Buddy Wakefield: Arguably the Most Successful Spoken Word Poet on the Road

I did the math and realized if I get $50 to $100 bucks a night plus sell chapbooks, on average I’m going to make a hundred dollars a night which is a ten hour a day, ten dollar an hour job with no taxes taken out. I won’t have rent because I will be living in my car, so I’ll be making just as much as I already am, with my college degree. And living out my little dream, my little delusion of rock star grandeur, um…as a poet. So I just did it. I booked it two months out.

Coal Miner

Poetry by Khary Jackson

For the lady that burnt photos of her ex, to use the ash for coal

This is what it means to be sexy.

Only in certain hands can heartbreak be so pragmatic.
I have a bookshelf of failures that beg for a kindling.

The Vicenarian or My Twenties So Far

Poetry by Laura E. Davis My therapist says, “Tell me about your twenties.” At twenty I’m born again. Bush vote. My heart turns purple and my insides become composted totems of faces I’d forgotten. Grandfather starts dialysis. Get homesick in…

The Negative

Poetry by S. Wilson Collins

Since junior high I watched
the gym rats toss iron

in the room with mirrors
for walls –
where weights whirr