A constellation of mint
By Kevin McLellanThe blur of
bodies
scattering
Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By David-Matthew BarnesI remember the rhythm at night:
Your hips wanting mine,
to grind our street-smart
By Persis M. KarimTake their limbs strewn about the streets—
multiply by a thousand and one.
Ask everyone in Baghdad who has lost
By Najwan DarwishFado, I’ll sleep like people do
when shells are falling
and the sky is torn like living flesh
I’ll dream, then, like people do
By Don ShareJuly kindles the redneck in me.
I blaze down Interstates
that are viaducts for my beery nerves
By Kevin SimmondsI can write a poem
to the limbs of a grandmother
seeded in a scorched field
where her house stood
By Nicholas SamarasWhat is that red throbbing over the sound of engines?
Why is a distant war still being talked about in the media?
I can't see my home or Iraq or the Middle East
outside this bowed rectangle of blue altitude.
By Gretchen Primackand there was a dog, precisely the colors of autumn,
asleep between two trunks by the trail.
But it was a coyote, paws pink
By David Tomas MartinezIt's not water to wine to swallow harm,
though many of us have,
and changing the name
By Venus ThrashDeep in the heart of the Garden of Eden,
past the Euphrates & Tigris riverbanks,
the marsh grass, reed beds, bulrushes,