Poems

Proof by Cornelius Eady Written for the inauguration of Zohran Mamdani, Jan 1, 2026, NYC. You have to imagine it: Who said you were too dark/too Large? Too queer/too loud? Who said you were too poor/ Too strange? Too fat? You have to imagine it: Who said you must keep quiet? Who heard your story, then Rolled their eyes? Who tried to change your name To invisible? You’ve got to imagine: Who heard your name And refused to pronounce it? Who checked their watch And said “not n

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught

This Morning I Pray for My Enemies by Joy Harjo And whom do I call my enemy? An enemy must be worthy of engagement. I turn in the direction of the sun and keep walking. It’s the heart that asks the question, not my furious mind. The heart is the smaller cousin of the sun. It sees and knows everything. It hears the gnashing even as it hears the blessing. The door to the mind should only open from the heart. An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend. This poe

Senryū is the term for short haiku that are humorous. I was lucky enough to attend a reading recently in which John Brehm read from his latest book, Just This: New and Selected Poems. The book was published this year by Wisdom Publications; you can buy it here. The following is a selection of some of the very funny senryū from John's book. As with traditional haiku, senryū are not titled. Enjoy the following, this bit of something different from the norm, and buy John's book!

The Strangers by Patrick Hicks After we picked you up at the Omaha airport, we clamped you into a new car seat and listened to you yowl beneath the streetlights of Nebraska. Our hotel suite was plump with toys, ready, we hoped, to soothe you into America. But for a solid hour you watched the door, shrieking, Umma, the Korean word for mother. Once or twice you glanced back at us and, in this netherworld where a door home had slammed shut forever, your terrified eyes paced bet

September 1918 by Amy Lowell This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight; The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves; The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves, And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows. Under a tree in the park, Two little boys, lying flat on their faces, Were carefully gathering red berries To put in a pasteboard box. Some day there will be no war, Then I shall take out this afternoon And turn

Morning Song by Sylvia Plath Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls. I’m no more your mother Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind’s hand. All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink r

The Raft by Erica Reid I approach every poem I write as if I’m going to save a life. —Aaron Abeyta It was no small feat to locate a phone book—but I did, and Angela Winston from Oshkosh, Wisconsin, I have chosen your name at random and I have come to save your life. I recognize that it is a huge swing on my part to assume that you need saving—but then we are all drowning these days, are we not? Don’t you wake up feeling you’ve reached your limit, that the worst must be past,

Desert by Patricia Hooper Where there's a river, that tastes of direction. Where there's an orchard, that says survival. Where there's a desert, that changes everything, as if earth hadn't wanted to fill only her own need. This very compact poem was published in the October 1971 issue of Poetry. The photo above was taken by me in the vicinity of Goldfield, Nevada a few years ago. I love this poem, not just its compactness, but its directness. Rivers give directions. Orchards

The Mower by Philip Larkin The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found a hedgehog jammed up against the blades, killed. It had been in the long grass. I had seen it before, and even fed it, once. Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world unmendably. Burial was no help: Next morning I got up and it did not. The first day after a death, the new absence is always the same; we should be careful of each other, we should be kind while there is still time. I know peo

Numbers by Mary Cornish I like the generosity of numbers. The way, for example, they are willing to count anything or anyone: two pickles, one door to the room, eight dancers dressed as swans. I like the domesticity of addition— add two cups of milk and stir— the sense of plenty: six plums on the ground, three more falling from the tree. And multiplication’s school of fish times fish, whose silver bodies breed beneath the shadow of a boat. Even subtraction is never loss, jus

Imagine This by Freya Manfred When you’re young, and in good health, you can imagine living in New York City, or Nepal, or in a tree beyond the moon, and who knows who you’ll marry: a millionaire, a monkey, a sea captain, a clown. But the best imaginers are the old and wounded, who swim through ever narrowing choices, dedicating their hearts to peace, a stray cat, a bowl of homemade vegetable soup, or red Mountain Ash berries in the snow. Imagine this: only one leg and lucky

Although the Wind by Izumi Shikibu, translated by Jane Hirshfield Although the wind blows terribly here, the moonlight also leaks between the roof planks of this ruined house. This poem is, of course, untitled in its original form; traditional Japanese poetry is not titled. And this poet is the epitome of traditional--she was born about 974 and died (we believe) in 1034, and she is considered to be one of the greatest poets of her era. This poem is somewhat unusual for Shiki

The Arid Land by Rollie Lynn Riggs There will be willows plunging Their bloodless roots in air And the hard crooked flying Of buzzards circled there. About the treeless wastes No sand may ever heap With water, nothing will run And nothing creep. Arid, desolate, defiant Under its iron band Of sky, we yet may love This so sunny land. I took the photo above in November, 2022, outside of Nashville, Tennessee, on one of my many cross-country drives. This is a black vulture (we us

So Much Happiness by Naomi Shihab Nye It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness. With sadness there is something to rub against,
 a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
 When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up,
 something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change. But happiness floats.
 It doesn’t need you to hold it down.
 It doesn’t need anything.
 Happiness lands on the roof of the next house, singing,
 and disappears when i

Prayer for those who run by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha I wish you swift wind. I wish you a changed phone number that stays changed. I wish you throwing away the cell the parents bought to track you with. I wish you the Greyhound, PATH train, whatever transit you're waiting for coming on time and taking you away express with no stops. I wish you a city with affordable housing. An apartment where you smear blood above the door so their angel of death will pass you by. I

Visitation by Mark Doty When I heard he had entered the harbor, and circled the wharf for days, I expected the worst: shallow water, confusion, some accident to bring the young humpback to grief. Don't they depend on a compass lodged in the salt-flooded folds of the brain, some delicate musical mechanism to navigate their true course? How many ways, in our century's late iron hours, might we have led him to disaster? That, in those days, was how I'd come to see the world: da

Tuesday by Gwen Benaway the hard point, estrogen high tide- when the patch releases the most of what makes me a girl. breasts ache, swell with change as my emotions descend in currents to a dark heart at the lake bottom. float on driftwood, grip this life like an anchor as I drift further from the shore I call myself. there is no hope in the deep water, no dream lifts under me, just bracken, plastic litter. I survive because I know how to swim, I survive because I kn

Advice from a Raindrop by Kim Stafford You think you’re too small to make a difference? Tell me about it. You think you’re helpless, at the mercy of forces beyond your control? Been there. Think you’re doomed to disappear, just one small voice among millions? That’s no weakness, trust me. That’s your wild card, your trick, your implement. They won’t see you coming until you’re there, in their faces, shining, festive, expendable, eternal. Sure you’re small, just one small par

Epitaph on a Tyrant by W.H. Auden Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after, And the poetry he invented was easy to understand; He knew human folly like the back of his hand, And was greatly interested in armies and fleets; When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter, And when he cried the little children died in the streets. Lots of folks are turning to, and sharing, Shelley's "Ozymandias" these days--the famous poem of a king who has had built a colossal s