By Cornelius Eady
I’m here
to tell you
an old story.
This
Appears to be
my work.
I live
in the world,
Walk
the streets…
to tell you
an old story.
This
Appears to be
my work.
I live
in the world,
Walk
the streets…
Explore Poems: Relationships
Showing 1-20 of 5,443 poems
- By Cornelius EadySome folks will tell you the blues is a woman,
Some type of supernatural creature.
My mother would tell… - By Ama CodjoeI don’t like being photographed. When we kissed
at a wedding, the night grew long and luminous.
You unhooked my bra. A photograph
passes for proof, Sontag says, that a given thing
has happened. Or you leaned back to watch
as I eased the straps... - By Li-Young LeeSad is the man who is asked for a story
and can’t come up with one.
His five-year-old son waits in his lap.
Not the same story, Baba. A new one.
The man rubs his chin, scratches his ear.
In a room full of books... - By Richard SikenDriving, dogs barking, how you get used to it. bow you make
the new street… - By Pamela SneedDespite horrible treatment
The lack of acceptance care
The threats
Giving away all I stand to inherit
Despite the lies
passing for white
The hatred towards Black women and girls
in specific me
Despite the competing
The constant need to feel better than me
at tremendous cost
Despite the selfishness
Lack of... - By Jessica AbughattasThe winter I leave him, I ask my parents to consider me
their oldest son. To bend the rules.
I could be a little tree, late to flourish,
focused on my underground career.
I tell them to buy me a house.
They’re 15 years divorced.... - By R. Erica Doyleletting the words fly like smoke uncurling from our mouths
we lie in bed with dykes ten years our junior, make
pot heaps to share, sleep in the same flannel sheets,
plot colored artist collaborations underground and not top 40,
draw the constellations from... - By Rosamond S. KingGranny, woman I’ve slept with the most
her curves ungirdled, everything—hair
, flesh, breath of hers next to mine. Her
love nowhere else soft; her cut eyes
, her tongue with criticism and
admiration for these bornupnorth
chirren, her eating all my birthday
chocolate. Granny the reason... - By Alexis De VeauxI pray for us
as evening glides over
implore the gods
pray for us pray
for this breathing
planet the milky way
dreams us
into galaxy
no need for heaven this
is how it started:
way out beyond we
below
the sweet of your lips
dipped in promise
anxieties claim us
bark and skin
what we... - By Kinsale DrakeBecause my mama lost her daddy when she was too young
And she didn’t know how to hold her grief so she let it break
Like waves against the inside of her skin until it was all worn
Down trying to hold her... - By Brandon YoungOh, don’t worry, we will let our hair down tonight—
but first we must remember on this stage, the queen
we lost, who they killed not too far from here
just... - By Brandon YoungMy father said to me once your only choices are the factories. Oil stains or
the selfsame bruises. No longings for the night. Looking back I think of
things I could have done differently ... Sure, it could have all been different,
but what’s the use now, when all... - By CAConradFrank’s sister grew long blue feathers
she said it was worse than cutting teeth
she spent a month screaming in the cave
pushing them out
Frank would lie in bed at night
touching his own back
crying
praying it wouldn’t
come to him
but the day his sister flew... - By CAConradMother was angry when
Frank accused his brother
of being a cartoon
“but look!” Frank said
“I can fold him
into airplanes!
I can chew him
into spitballs!”
“stop chewing and folding your brother!
he loves you very much!” she said
“then why doesn’t he say so?”
“because
we can’t afford a
screenwriter’s... - By K. IverYou’ve never seen a lilac in Mississippi.
Backstage you wear lotion laced with
its chemical imitation. A ballet mistress
says relevé always as command: lift
onto the toe using only the heel.
Your ankle’s bewilderment
old as the horned owl gaze from
your mother hunched in the... - By Frank X. Walker...walk into a bar in America.
Butterworth says, I’m being repackaged.
Ben says, I’m being rebranded.
Jemima says, I remember
when they branded my mama on her back.
The bartender says, I could stand in the middle
of Main Street and kill somebody
and I wouldn’t... - By Isabela AgosaMy mom and I don’t spend
all day talking about the white
priests who raped Great Grandma
Marie, unless it’s a poem. Suffering
is boring. Do you know how big
the word genocide is? How long.
I’m taking a class on Indian
temporalities. I tell my mom... - By Kwame DawesTo be introduced as a mountain of gray-blue beauty
at the end of that first chapter of chatty consideration—
this is the desire I carry, that moment of being announced
followed by the brooding silence of my presence—
such an effortless presence—while I consider the old dreams
of my childhood, my regrets and the laughter over - By Matthew RohrerOn someone else’s estate
running through it to avoid
the outdoor wedding there is a grave
in a little copse of trees
so panting we hide out there
How beautiful to lie down
not to be the dead ones there
whose eye sockets are filled with dirt
nothing...