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This poem first appeared in “Walt’s Corner” of The Long Islander, founded by Walt Whitman in 1838.
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1476126
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Have you heard this yet? The daughter flew home to care for the mother, whose pump is still tick ticking—though now with aid—which means she leaves the kitchen when the microwave clicks on.
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147621
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At eight o' clock: as, drawn by many bells, The patchwork congregation lopes and stalks, To churches far from serenade of shells To storms, we leave behind the windblown walks, And sails of youth, to glide through liquid hells, A temporal…
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1476128
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We suffer//
the one agony only- of having no longer/
any physical effect nor way to speak/
of what we watch to those we watch.
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this is where we end --
the exorbitant eye of forgotten days.
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147662
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Speaking of stiff nipples, I heard you once wanted to become a painter, because of your fondness for nipples. Feeling like Gauguin and his little Polynesian women/girls, are we? So, you're going to try to out-paint God, are you, Mr. Sistine Chapel of the
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The eyelid of the sink blinks silence. The clocks choke on smoke.
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Nights this husband returned home still hungry sometimes, even for her forearms against his own
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Cicadas shed their skin as they grow, leaving crisp hollowed out remains on tree trunks, fence posts, and the undersides of upturned leaves. Tommy and I would collect them in the early morning and stick them to our clothes like brooches. I used to like Tommy,…
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147612
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I was an alcoholic for ten years, starting in my early twenties and continuing into my thirties. Then finally, after many attempts, I got myself straightened out. My son's birth finally did it for me. It wasn't like a switch flipped in the delivery room…
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A tornado and peacock were bred in his paddock; the couple gave birth to a turquoise lasso.
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147680
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Joe's, always smelling of cherry chapstick or the breeze that comes up from subway grates, used to service some of the finest dupes in town.
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147631
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I want to read a story that ends unhappily ever after: one where the bad guy wins and no one gets the girl.
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“The window is a much better place to read,” she said.I wasn't aware she was talking to me, at first. In my typical manner, I was thinking about far off possibilities and realities completely detached from my own. Yet, here she was, a far off…
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An excellent plan. Just like old times.
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"Look Emily, I’m charging your solar powered calculator and helping you relieve your dependence on foreign oil."
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You shine brightest under a starlit skyThe moon reflects your beautyAs the wind sings your name sweetlyIt was under the heavens that we promised togetherThat I'll hold your hand and you'll be mine forever... You glow brightest when the sun is at its highestYour radiant…
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147532
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I’m casing the place; my boyfriend Jimmy is about to bust in and rob the store.
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I'm working through the rocky pine cones so you don't have to. I'm stepping over the little dreaming people in your dreams so we don't wake them with our loud and coming loose footprints. The poem passes by like a heartbreaking train…
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Who hasn’t at some point of the day wanted to dredge up everything in your pocket just to see what it is.
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The shirts hanging by the back veranda serve as our memorial to them.
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God’s hearing aid is missing
And apparently needs an enormous battery
But no one has the
heart to tell Him
because who wants to be
shouting at God?
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She stiffens and blusters and roars
Not like a storm,
Not like a lion.
Like a badger, caught in the steel jaws of a trap.
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We all know that sometimes miracles happen and sometimes they don't. Some days are good and some days go by slowly as the fatigue sets in and he realizes that he is fighting cancer.
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Said do you feel it when you touch me?
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At some point, you care/
just enough to wake each morning,
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When Lois finally found him down there, Johnny was wedged between a large rock and the trunk of an old, long since fallen, cottonwood tree. She said as she got to him, she heard his gurgling breath, fighting fiercely to stay alive. When she saw the deep, gathering, red…
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He brought me flowers once, three wilted carnations I put in water, though the sight of them made me uneasy. He brought me pictures once, too, of three sisters—ten, twelve, fourteen—straddling dirt bikes. He touched my shoulder once, as I edited pictures …
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