By Cynthia Cruz
I had a fellowship but lived poorly
On cheap beer and penny candy.
Later, a career of killing time.
But…
On cheap beer and penny candy.
Later, a career of killing time.
But…
Explore Poems: Midlife
Showing 1-20 of 156 poems
- By J. Allyn Rossersmiling at far end of table with friends I don’t know
newly wedded NYC looking down
taking turns holding… - By Joanna KlinkWoken again, this time by wings
scraping the air to pitch the warbler’s
heft from its tree. Its perch… - By Shane McCraeThe joke you hear today you’ll hear
Again next year again each ev-
ery birthday after for the first… - By Ada LimónI pass the feeder and yell, Grackle party! And then an hour later I yell, Mourning dove afterparty! …
- By Richard SikenDriving, dogs barking, how you get used to it, how you make
the new streets… - By R. Erica Doyleletting the words fly like smoke uncurling from our mouths
we lie in bed with dykes ten years our junior… - By Corey ZellerWe spend the evening listening to folk songs from the early 2000s. Make a stew. Cut carrots the color…
- By A. Van JordanLately, my friends ask me, out of love,
have I written about my mother,
who suffers under the storm … - By Anni LiuHe takes me, his adult child swaddled in foreignness, to the southern provinces.
Opaque scenes unfold… - By W. S. Di PieroThe city budget squads have trimmed its hours.
“You can’t get in, just go home why don’t you.”
I couldn… - By Anne SextonI was thinking of a son.
The womb is not a clock
nor a bell tolling,
but in the eleventh month of its… - By John ClareAnd what is Life?—An hour-glass on the run,
A Mist retreating from the morning sun,
A busy, bustling… - By Kathleen OssipTo have arrived here, weighed down with fistfuls
of calendar entries, unsuitably
boggle-eyed as if new… - By Kit FanIt was summer in Hokkaido.
The forest stole the wind
and I swallowed my footsteps.
Nobody came to the… - By Matvei YankelevichAs winter went on, every morning’s spoon of buckwheat honey
resembled more the taste of that isosceles… - By Sally Van DorenI have scrawled audible lifelines along the edges
of the lint trap, dropping the ball of towel fuzz
… - By Mona Van DuynPoised upside down on its duncecap,
a shrunken purple head,
True Blueberry,
enters its tightening frame… - By Stephen DobynsNihilism, but not in a negative
sense—such was his thought,
what else to call it? Like snow
inside a… - By Stephen DobynsCabbage—the first word put down
with his new pen, a trophy pen,
like a trophy wife, not cheap,
absurd…