Man on a Sofa
By Lee SharkeyA man is lying on a sofa.
The man has been reading.
He has laid down the book beside him.
The man's form is waiting to be occupied.
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Lee SharkeyA man is lying on a sofa.
The man has been reading.
He has laid down the book beside him.
The man's form is waiting to be occupied.
By Lourdes GalvánUtica is a pretty and quiet country
When I was at the bus station
my son would say to me, 'mom, I am hungry'
and a man who was sweeping came up to me
By Roger ReevesThe moths in the orchard squeal
with each pass of the mistral wind.
Yet the reapers and their scythes,
out beyond the pear trees, slay wheat
By Joshua BennettWhen yet another one of your kin falls,
you question God’s wingspan, the architecture
of mercy.
By Rachel Eliza GriffithsI remember the boys & their open hands. High fives
of farewell. I remember that the birches waved too,
the white jagged limbs turning away from incessant wildfires
By Kelli Stevens Kaneblueberry blackberry as always
bleeding, back road or boulevard,
our boy crowned with baton,
By Karen SkolfieldBalloon, then papier mâché.
Gray paint, blue and turquoise, green,
a clouded world with fishing line attached
By Joseph O. LegaspiAmphibians live in both.
Immigrants leave their land,
hardening in the sea.
Out of water.
By Chen ChenMy friend’s new neighbors in the suburbs
are planting a neat row of roses
between her house & theirs.
By Ruth Irupé SanabriaI am the daughter of doves
That disappeared into dust
Hear my pulse whisper: