Poetry
Unturned
The Sukshma Series is a first-hand account of an educated woman of post-colonial India reflecting on how the social and political set-up of the country defined the status of an Indian woman.
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Poetry
Showing 457-480 of 681 pieces
Poetry
Our English Cousin (2)
(Without covering the tedious detailsthat would have to happen beforesuch a provision would be realized),since in my will I made a bequest“to found at Washington,under..
Poetry
Summit
They put a robot car on Mars to take pictures of rocks.It takes quite a while for the data to come back. About my future,..
Poetry
Droog 76
Our last bottle finishedno said my Russian friendthere are always seven drops leftseemed empty to me he holds the bottle up and waitsexactly seven dropsthere..
Poetry
THE WINTER EVERY PEN STOPPED WRITING WHILE THERE WAS STILL PLENTY OF INK LEFT
was not a metaphor, and I like to thinkthe weed wasn’t either, the wayit took me three monthsto smoke half an ouncebecause I had one..
Poetry
MY FATHER’S FATHER HAD SYPHILIS
He was a peddler in a horse-drawn wagon that sank beneath a load of watermelons, canary-yellow corn, bushels of gladiolas and mountains of ruby-red grapes…
Poetry
The Pistol as Means of Communication
To not go home in January, I will burn my new calendars, as if they were bridges. An exercise just for show? What do you..
Poetry
Queen of the Cosmos
The pink dogwood buds pop on green branch.In St. Peters church: beneath the Lucite cross, from his snowy mountain, rajastic in white,Father Conri gives a..
Poetry
C’est Fini
The credits roll and the audience applauds on their feet.The sunset’s colors bid adieu before the night cloaks the earth.The last leaf of autumn floats..
Poetry
A Vigil on Tiger Hill
The dark climb before dawnto catch the first lightbefore it grows common.Windows rolled downto un-spelled anagramsall over night’s loose gown. Memory of an early downpourIn..
Poetry
UNFOUND
If it was true, if it was true, I would be sitting at one windowAll one morning, testing the strength of the color blue. Is..
Poetry
The Payoff
Simply press the shutter halfway downto activate the metering system. Initially, you may find the system irksome,but may soon recognize its value. You’ll realize your..
Poetry
A Nilgai Deer in the City of Delhi
Between the high walland the roadwith six lines of trafficon a scrap of dried out soil under a dried up treea deer standsin the very..
Poetry
Coming to grips with the sound of water
I should live in Tucson or somewhere parched, with no water of its own, anyplace that can only provide me a few critical drops a..
Poetry
The Dormouse and The Wig
“These are strange and uncertain times,”said the dormouse to the drag queen’s fallen wig.The stock market was acting up again and overflowing its banksThe lords rode the..
Poetry
Some People Sleep a Lot Before They Die
I’m looking at yougoing to look at flowersseated across in t r a i n s as the fields swim past usthe horses in their..
Poetry
Where We Meet
In bed, in the dark, your fingers brush the jagged “x”that marks my damaged past.I flinch out of habit, force myselfto be completely naked with..
Poetry
Or So My Mamma Said
He was a man, like all the rest, or so my mamma said. The violet and green that decorate my body, a sign of his..
Poetry
Strange Visitations
This is where they come to roost in the twilight of their lives, waking to river song and birdcall riding the waves of myriad river..
Poetry
To My Fazoli’s Love
No, my sweet, I would not enjoy any additional breadsticks. I would not like your salt and garlic speckled dough cocks. Even for this..
Poetry
Hiraeth
Hiraeth (n.) A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the grief for the lost places of..
Poetry
Ken
Day Dada walked out without saying Yetan, which means I’ll be back not I’m leaving. Day he left without a sound or hint, Mama pulled..
Poetry
Love like a plan gone wrong & other poems
Love like a plan gone wrong Today I woke up and decided to be beautiful Everyday feels like a song in my head Looking to..
Poetry
Open Mic Night
My friend Dudley and I go to the book store for something to read. It’s open mic night. “How many poems can be recited about..