Black Air
In the distance, dusk cuts the tongue of the sun.
Underwater, the cities of the sky quit their laughing.
All shadows drop from the trees and gang up on me. Forests and windows go pale, like a woman. Night has spread completely.
The omnibus takes a flame aboard and traverses the park.
At that point my emotions dance about the city
Until they have driven out the grief.
It Is Snowing
Upstairs from us, a grand ball!
Devious angels dance in disorder, and out of their steps fall shards of deathly white snow.
Death is among the holly leaves. Crawling quietly in the attic.
Gnawing at my finger. Anxiously. And then at midnight—it falls at the storefront of the glass shop, exposing its stark white back.
Old love and time are buried, and the earth devours them.
Green Flames
I first see them loudly approaching descending numerous green stairs pass by look away cram into a small space while gradually hardening into a mound their movement makes waves of light furrow through the wheat field a thick overflowing fluid makes it impossible to stir the woodlands larch with short hair snail that paints carefully a spider spins electric wires like a mist everything rotates from green to deeper green they are inside the milk bottle on the kitchen table are reflected crouching with their faces flattened sliding around an apple they seem to crumble as they block off shafts of light in the street a blind girl plays by ducking under the shadows of the sun’s rings.
I hurry to shut the window danger has come right up to me a fire blazes outside the beautifully burning green flames spread high, circling the outskirts of the earth and in the end they dwindle, disappear as a single thin line of the horizon
My weight takes leave of me takes me back to the depths of oblivion people are crazy here there is no point in feeling sorrow nor in speaking their eyes are dyed green believing grows uncertain and looking enrages me
Who blindfolds me from behind? Shove me into sleep.
Black Air
In the distance, dusk cuts the tongue of the sun.
Underwater, the cities of the sky quit their laughing.
All shadows drop from the trees and gang up on me. Forests and windows go pale, like a woman. Night has spread completely.
The omnibus takes a flame aboard and traverses the park.
At that point my emotions dance about the city
Until they have driven out the grief.
It Is Snowing
Upstairs from us, a grand ball!
Devious angels dance in disorder, and out of their steps fall shards of deathly white snow.
Death is among the holly leaves. Crawling quietly in the attic.
Gnawing at my finger. Anxiously. And then at midnight—it falls at the storefront of the glass shop, exposing its stark white back.
Old love and time are buried, and the earth devours them.
Green Flames
I first see them loudly approaching descending numerous green stairs pass by look away cram into a small space while gradually hardening into a mound their movement makes waves of light furrow through the wheat field a thick overflowing fluid makes it impossible to stir the woodlands larch with short hair snail that paints carefully a spider spins electric wires like a mist everything rotates from green to deeper green they are inside the milk bottle on the kitchen table are reflected crouching with their faces flattened sliding around an apple they seem to crumble as they block off shafts of light in the street a blind girl plays by ducking under the shadows of the sun’s rings.
I hurry to shut the window danger has come right up to me a fire blazes outside the beautifully burning green flames spread high, circling the outskirts of the earth and in the end they dwindle, disappear as a single thin line of the horizon
My weight takes leave of me takes me back to the depths of oblivion people are crazy here there is no point in feeling sorrow nor in speaking their eyes are dyed green believing grows uncertain and looking enrages me
Who blindfolds me from behind? Shove me into sleep.
For National Poetry Month in April, we are sharing poetry collections and books about poetry by authors who have their own stories to tell. These poets delve into history, reimagine the present, examine poetry itself, provide insight on grief and reflection—from traditional poems many know and love to poems and voices that are new and
In honor of Arab American Heritage Month in April, we are sharing books by Arab and Arab American authors that share their culture, history, and personal lives.
April is National Poetry Month, reminding us of poetry’s important role in our culture and in our classrooms. We are celebrating by appreciating a few titles that highlight the lives and work of inspiring poets. Red Comet Red Comet is a biography of Sylvia Plath that focuses on her remarkable literary and intellectual achievements,
World Poetry Day is a day to “celebrate the expression of our common humanity.” On this day we are taking part in this celebration by recognizing books of poetry and poets who have provided universal teachings. Red Comet Red Comet is a biography of Sylvia Plath that focuses on her remarkable literary and intellectual
