Poems

Leave It All Up to Me by Major Jackson All we want is to succumb to a single kiss that will contain us like a marathon with no finish line, and if so, that we land like newspapers before sunrise, halcyon mornings like blue martinis. I am learning the steps to a foreign song: her mind was torpedo, and her body was storm, a kind of Wow . All we want is a metropolis of Sundays, an empire of hand-holding and park benches. She says, "Leave it all up to me." This poem appeared in

I Stop Writing the Poem by Tess Gallagher to fold the clothes. No matter who lives or who dies, I’m still a woman. I’ll always have plenty to do. I bring the arms of his shirt together. Nothing can stop our tenderness. I’ll get back to the poem. I’ll get back to being a woman. But for now there’s a shirt, a giant shirt in my hands, and somewhere a small girl standing next to her mother watching to see how it’s done. This poem originally appeared in Poetry East , Issue

Fire and Ice By Robert Frost Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. This is one of Frost’s most famous poems and a favorite for people who need (or want) to memorize a poem. I do not have much to say about this one, except that the weird rhyme scheme works: ABAABCB

Little Song for Kimberly by Alison Pelegrin Child, don’t bother tracking down your kin. Keep Out. Police line—can’t come in. Though I guess You’ll wonder why you’re mean like a Marine, Where you got them smarts. Blame it on us— Olympic liars, a.k.a. your mama’s side. We never knew there was a you, I swear. And once we did, Amanda said you died, Sent us hunting for your cremains everywhere. The ones who have you now can’t be so bad. I bet you never toddle in the dirt With a f

Dreamers by Siegfried Sassoon Soldiers are citizens of death's grey land, Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows. In the great hour of destiny they stand, Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows. Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives. Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin They think of firelit homes, clean beds and wives. I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats, And in the ruined trenches, lashed

Ars Poetica by Rita Dove Thirty miles to the only decent restaurant was nothing, a blink in the long dull stare of Wyoming. Halfway there the unknown but terribly important essayist yelled Stop! I wanna be in this; and walked fifteen yards onto the land before sky bore down and he came running, crying Jesus--there's nothing out there! I once met an Australian novelist who told me he never learned to cook because it robbed creative energy. What he wanted most was to be mute;

Night, Death, Mississippi by Robert Hayden I. A quavering cry. Screech-owl? Or one of them? The old man in his reek and gauntness laughs — One of them, I bet — and turns out the kitchen lamp, limping to the porch to listen in the windowless night. Be there with Boy and the rest if I was well again. Time was. Time was. White robes like moonlight In the sweetgum dark. Unbucked that one then and him squealing bloody Jesus as we cut it off. Time was. A cry? A cry all right. He h

Tonight We Die as a Family by Mohammed El-Kurd At the hospital the nurse is startled a surprise visitor: her husband’s corpse on a stretcher he arrived in the backseat of a taxi-- a makeshift hearse. There are not enough ambulances in Gaza and more than enough death. She is livid. Men never listen I told you wait till after my shift I need to tend to the wounded first I told you tonight we die as a family we were supposed to die as a family View of destruction in Rafah, sout

You Want a Social life, with Friends by Kenneth Koch You want a social life, with friends, A passionate love life and as well To work hard every day. What’s true Is of these three you may have two And two can pay you dividends But never may have three. There isn’t time enough, my friends—
 Though dawn begins, yet midnight ends—
 To find the time to have love, work, and friends.
 Michelangelo had feeling 
For Vittoria and the Ceiling
 But did he go to parties at day’s end? Ho

I Must Become a Menace to My Enemies by June Jordan Dedicated to the Poet Agostinho Neto, President of The People’s Republic of Angola: 1976 1 I will no longer lightly walk behind a one of you who fear me: Be afraid. I plan to give you reasons for your jumpy fits and facial tics I will not walk politely on the pavements anymore and this is dedicated in particular to those who hear my footsteps or the insubstantial rattling of my g

The Occupation by Robert Bringhurst for Janet Danielson I will tell you how it was the world changed, she said --and darkness wrapped us round. I heard her clearly, though I barely heard the words. It was nearly--yes-- as if she were singing. Our job, she was saying, is not to change the world--nor even to keep it from changing. No, she was saying (the story was over already): our only job is being changed. This poem, by a Canadian poet (actually, an ex-pat American), s

For the Thief by Alison Hawthorne Deming Thank you for leaving the desk and the chair, the books, snapshots and piano. I've heard of moving van robberies-- coming home from work to percussion of empty rooms. Thank you for leaving the trapped air that softens the blunt edge of my day. What's mine--the hum of identity-- still surrounds me, though the electronics are gone and the jewelry that was too precious to wear. Thank you for not spraying the walls with coke or with piss.

Acceptance Speech by Lynn Powell The radio's replaying last night's winners and the gratitude of the glamorous, everyone thanking everybody for making everything so possible, until I want to shush the faucet, dry my hands, join in right here at the cluttered podium of the sink, and thank my mother for teaching me the true meaning of okra, my children for putting back the growl in hunger, my husband, primo uomo of dinner, for not begrudging me this starring role— without all

Free by Virgil Suarez When we first arrived in the United States from Franco's Spain, everything we encountered or bought had "free" written on it. The boxes of cereal spoke of a free mystery surprise, the junk mail came bundled, and somehow that word sang to us. My father and I got wise—the word became cheap, untrustworthy, hollow. Having been fooled before, we knew what "free" really meant. We learned lessons the hard way; nothing free ever came so easily, but my mother—

Sleeping with You by Ellen Bass Is there anything more wonderful? After we have floundered through our separate pain we come to this. I bind myself to you, like otters wrapped in kelp, so the current will not steal us as we sleep. Through the night we turn together, rocked in the shallow surf, pebbles polished by the sea. This wonderful poem was published in Ellen Bass' book, Mules of Love (BOA Editions, 2002). And yes, of course I love the title of this book! You can buy i

On Learning to Dissect Fetal Pigs by Renée Nicole Macklin Good i want back my rocking chairs, solipsist sunsets, & coastal jungle sounds that are tercets from cicadas and pentameter from the hairy legs of cockroaches. i’ve donated bibles to thrift stores (mashed them in plastic trash bags with an acidic himalayan salt lamp— the post-baptism bibles, the ones plucked from street corners from the meaty hands of zealots, the dumbed-down, easy-to-read, parasitic kind): rememb

Song of the Wonderful Surprise by Kelly Cherry Start with the fact of space; fill it up with snow. There will be snow in the sky, snow on the ground, snow in the mysterious courtyards. You taste snow's tang, smell snow, feel snow on your face. If you walk forever, you will not come to a place with no snow, but one day, looking around, you will find a green apple hanging from a spray of snow. I promised you a cheerier poem, and here it is! The poet, Kelly Cherry, is the autho

Sober Song by Barton Sutter Farewell to the starlight in whiskey, So long to the sunshine in beer. The booze made me cocky and frisky But worried the man in the mirror. Goodnight to the moonlight in brandy, Adieu to the warmth of the wine. I think I can finally stand me Without a glass or a stein. Bye-bye to the balm in the vodka, Ta-ta to the menthol in gin. I'm trying to do what I ought to, Rejecting that snake medicine. I won't miss the blackouts and vomit, The accidents

Hold your breath: a song of climate change by Bob Hicok The water’s rising but we’re not drowning yet. When we’re drowning we’ll do something. When we’re on our roofs. When we’re deciding between saving the cute baby or the smart baby. When there aren’t enough helicopters or news crews to circle over everyone. When sharks are in the streets. When people are dying. When people with wine cellars are dying. We’ll build dams and dikes, put stilts on our V-8s and golf courses, cu

The Word Plum by Helen Chasin The word plum is delicious pour and push, luxury of self-love, and savoring murmur full in the mouth and falling like fruit taut skin pierced, bitten, provoked into juice, and tart flesh question and reply, lip and tongue of pleasure. This poem appeared in the 1968 collection Coming Close and Other Poems, which was published as the winner of the Yale Series of Younger Poets of that year. The series publishes a poet's first book and uses, of cou