Poetry

“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” – Carl Sandburg

Everything I say is a lie

Apple Tree black and white

All of this a lie, because you can’t remember the apple tree,
so it was never there, and I was never there, and
and I am just like my father, a liar who remembers things
that never happened, never were, in those spans of years

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Two Poems by Patrick Kindig

Snowflakes

Slowly
a pile of red skin grows on the table,
like snow or eyelashes unattached
to a wish.

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De Terre

Diamond matches

The birds (of paradise) are chittering
which seems insufficient
for a poem, because it does not match
the intensity—or is it pain?—

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U.I.O.G.D.

Holy Card

This week I learned that every other year the Holy Ghost plants a baby seed in a married mom’s tummy. Nine months later a slit opens up underneath across the bottom and the baby slides out.

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My Avarice is

Sarah Wetzel

for your cadaverous jaw and thin lips, for your meticulous fingers lighting cigarette after cigarette, for your body bone sleek and for speed

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On Being Late in Advance

backwards clock

Every question I ask
is answered in another life.

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Two Poems by Matthew Landrum

Mango Tree

What does it mean to be a voice
when what I say will be said
again or rather is being said
even now by another?

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Snippets of Advice From an Old Southern Man

Old Southern Man

Bein’ shallow is good
if you’re talkin’ about water,
and bad if you’re talkin’ about people.

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Dream of Spring

Ice on Glass

Close your eyes against
brilliant nothingness
that slices like
a dull knife.

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On Auden’s Face

W.H. Auden's face

Each line of your face
a dismissed metaphor.
You the timid champion
of time with men and art.

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Drive-By

Wisteria

Wisteria hangs in great dollops
from the treetops,
the faint purple drapery
escorting me to Aiken and Camden

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Two Poems by Timothy Liu

Classical music notes

On the day my mother died, I unplugged
the stereo at a time when record clubs
still sent out their selections of the month

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My Father’s Amputation on Tuesday

amputation

How long can a foot
last when it’s been
short
two sizes from the start?

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Idols Out Of Sand

Figure in White Sand

Sparkle.
Dripping nowhere
(important)
across a rise of white.

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Three Poems by Angela Jackson-Brown

Pan statue

The god Pan overtakes me
In a scarily erotic
Dance.

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