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Poetry
it’s because i have time now, in these stolen hours in which tree shadows stretch across the windows and outside, and the air is just starting to drape itself in cold and to exhale its fog into the golden streetlamp glow.
Poetry
All vessels have names, even a container ship whose utilitarian appearance does not elicit poetry. Ever Given. Blood oranges, mahogany, lemons,
Poetry
There used to be a snag. It was in the chest and like a ponytail caught
Poetry
You fattened the pigs in your stye with acorns and beech mast, And with a wave of your wand, you transformed them into men.
Poetry
question mark-comma-hyphen marks punctuated by division upon division a leaving-behind
Poetry
Lo! Were I a woman bottled and kept, written of as battles bloodied and blessed.
Poetry
You asked me how to kill An ant colony I told you to press firmly on each speck Until you thought they were no longer breathing,
Poetry
The jungle has reclaimed the camp, a bed of daisies growing now where the pavilion was. The oil drum stands rusting, its remembrance burnt away.
Poetry
Now, still, I’m sitting in the way-back, where I can flick my ashes on the floor and exhale freely.
Poetry
Anti-tyger Anti-tyger, burning bright, In the anti-forests of the anti-night; What immortal anti-hand or anti-eye Could frame thy fearful anti-symmetry?
Poetry
In the rain, eat pistachios The girl with the red dress, hands me a lily Secrets of the house—of the blouse—of the bruise I begin eating them and them and them: flax seeds We cannot live in mud of melancholy Like a sticky hot bun, this is all…
Poetry
The things we do to keep alive: Whisky, weed, write & lie. We settle, we deny, we Play-Boy. We work & sleep & hunt to avoid the final gasp, life’s last sigh.
Poetry
I mind the peak cabin with vistas in all directions need fire humming here and nowhere in particular while you dip a toe into icy time flow finicking a door
Poetry
Bypassing clenched fists, their conscientious poems get published in conscientious journals.
Poetry
When I see the roots of a tree bleed through the ground, now I say they are the veins of my grandmother’s hands, spilling upward. I recall the tender bruises up and down her arms
Poetry
It’s dry,a fragrance tucked away, no longer lavender.
Poetry
When the hums reach the edge of the crater, they return to the girl, and she replies by raising her voice an octave.
Poetry
I knew he’d never kill anything and it wasn’t that I thought you wanted that deer to get killed but I had suspicion you did not care either way and that indifference made me more sick but
Poetry
First punch landed at Stonewall, Bleached reef, powder nose, drip-drip-alive, Nightmare waking and post-sleepfuck-stares, You. Bought You,
Poetry
skateboards dope and pogo sticks banana bikes and popsicle sticks ten cent candy up from five
Poetry
the air thickened with silence. a small robin robs the brush of whatever red berries exude from the death of this place.
Poetry
A soul is already carpeted in the divine and who is to say sorrow isn’t God? Who is to say love isn’t prayer? Who is to say time is always on our side?
Poetry
Only when you can delete your Submittable account, and box your poetry books into a carton shipped to a country without birds or borders;
Poetry
Rituparna Sengupta translates five poems by Adnan Kafeel “Darwesh” from Hindi into English.