By Inua Ellams
We were wild children / we moved through space / like blades
We were tame children / we fell to sleep…
We were tame children / we fell to sleep…
Explore Poems: Anaphora
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- By Lindsay TigueHave you ever searched for tunnels behind bookshelves? Have you ever zoomed out quickly on Google maps…
- By Cornelius EadyI’m here
to tell you
an old story.
This
Appears to be
my work.
I live
in the world,
Walk
the streets… - By Adam O. Davis1. If a house is haunted like a radio
is haunted If a body is a radio
of blood If a body of ghosts
hums… - By James CagneyI come from the kidnapped,
the assaulted—
my country’tis of reparations as in-store credit
backordered… - By Margaret WalkerFor my people For my people In an interview for Callaloo literary journal, Walker remarked: “I remember…
- By Kimiko HahnIf you could hear, at every jolt, the building quiver—
If you could hear fossils stirring—
If you … - By Ava CipriHere is the encyclopedia where I learn first position
Here is where I begin ballet: at 12, in a class… - By Patti SmithI feel like
I feel like shit
I need a
I need a drink
and not vinegar neither
I don’t want to die
I feel… - By Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinhayou mean well, but
when I say I hurt when I say some part of
my body hurts and you say oh, did you do … - By Kareem TayyarIf you’re swimming
then you have lost something important.
If you’re flying
then your heart’s been … - By Tishani DoshiGirls are coming out of the woods,
wrapped in cloaks and hoods,
carrying iron bars and candles
and a… - By Anne SextonFirst Psalm
Let there be a God as large as a sunlamp to laugh his heat at you.
Let there be an earth… - By Eloisa Amezcuabecause we know distance too well
because the blood bank didn’t have enough blood for nana & her new… - By Traci BrimhallI must be the heavy globe
of hydrangea, always bowing
by summer’s end. Must be salt,
like sadness at… - By Larry NealHoly the days of the prune face junkie men
Holy the scag pumped arms
Holy the Harlem faces
looking for… - By Richard BlancoSeventeen suns rising in seventeen bedroom windows. Thirty-four eyes blooming open with the light of…
- By sam saxgoodbye city. goodbye stoop. goodbye rush hour traffic plume.
goodbye feminist qpoc weed delivery group… - By Danez Smithyou save me half a bag of skins, the hard parts, my fav, dusted orange with hot
•
you say we can’… - By Natalie Scenters-ZapicoI’ve stopped asking:
¿Why?
I’ve let a man whistle
from the table for more beer,
& brought it to him…