Rebecca Weiner Tompkins

ANOTHER AUTUMNAL Sometimes I imagine parking lots are water, dark seas no longer dry ground but not either anywhere to drown. Sometimes all the trees in the park are radiant yellow in the end of November twiligh...

Karina McCorkle

А следующий раз — глухонемая Приду на свет, где всем свой стих дарю, свой слух дарю. Ведь всё равно — что говорят — не пон...

William Carlos Williams

"The Red Wheelbarrow," a classic poem by the great William Carlos Williams. You don't need to say much to say a lot.

Michael J. Wilson

Tesla is Born The sound of a shell at your ear in an expansive void that is the mouth of the universe Lightening across the curve of the eye A crack in the spheres allowing a peek at the undergarments of God And...

Gabor G Gyukics

guardian angels? a pistol is held to your forehead in a bosky alley of the night you search for the face behind the hand as you wait for the click of the trigger instead you see the hand holding the gun pull ...

Anna Akhmatova

Последний тост Я пью за разорённый дом, За злую жизнь мою, За одиночество вдвоём, И за тебя я пью,— За ложь меня предавш...

Iris Berry

SHOOTING FOR THE STARS IN KEVLAR We run from hot summer days and broken air conditioners. We run to chilled movie theatres make out like teenagers who’ve never had sex never been kissed by tender mouths and n...

Sudie Nostrand

Windows of deserted factories shimmer on a humid night in the parking lot lights as we stand absorbed in thought looking down the empty street. I am reluctant to break the long silence enclosing us. Sounds travel ...