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:: American Literature & Poetry |Poems from America by wonderful American Poets. Read, enjoy and do share the world of American Poetry.
Across the plain where
dust moves like a little
creature running from itself,
there is a room in the palace
where I lie down on
the soft carpet.
I listen to Sri Sattru playing
an evening Raga on his … [Read the rest...] “Poem to Myself | C M Brown”
Whelped behind an old Hindu temple on the road linking the beach of Mullaitivu and the lagoon, she was the lone survivor of her pack easily recognized by her light brown coat, perky ears, pointed snout and delicate feet.
The … [Read the rest...] “The Old Lagoon Dog Bears Witness to the War’s Atrocities | C. Christine Fair”
War dead fell in patterns around craters, and
will long enrich the battlefield. Some forever
will inhabit the soil. Survivors, like shadows,
return to circle the lush grass; argue possible
versions of their own history. Since victory,
I offer my … [Read the rest...] “Mount Zion Church, Grant Takes Command | Keith Moul”
Dolly’s life and my life proceeded apace, anyway,
but only since 1996 overlapping at her prairie cafe.
She was only thirty when the former operator quit
the lease, held so long patrons forgot “before Bill.”
At sixty years, I only … [Read the rest...] “Dolly’s Place on S.R. 29 | Keith Moul”
Maybe I’ve always chosen
the cloth monkey
over
the wire one, tazing
myself with absorption
Maybe I chewed the
apple
straight to the cyanide
Maybe I
queued behind myself,
ouroboros once or twice or
ten times over
Maybe I’m Sisyphus … [Read the rest...] “Red Light Run | Joe Albanese”
He has saved her from four lanes of traffic
on the Inner Ring Road of Domluru
brushed her black coat to a sheen,
and dressed her up, starting at the tip
of curved upward horns, she could hook
the yellow … [Read the rest...] “Man Walking Cow | Carlos Reyes”
He squats blowing life
into coals of the ubiquitous
shallow bowl to heat
his fifty year old iron.
He pushes his table cart
from block to block where
he is expected like a friend
by those who need him
to … [Read the rest...] “The Presser | Carlos Reyes”
On the eve of mourning.
Ganga moonlight shimmers.
Hallowed soul… ancient spirits.
Steps falling into water.
Hazy, lazy, rolling.
Completeness, full circle… transcendent.
Circled blood red sun.
Bells clanging, clanging.
Dust to dirt and dirt to dust… dependent.
Ever changing, … [Read the rest...] “Ganga on the eve of mourning | Joseph Nichols”