Morning Coffee #18

Where the author pretentiously post a poem he enjoys. The Soul BY KATIE FORD It disappeared. It reappearedas chimney smoke that burnt through carcassesof swallows stilled,and that it portrayed no willwas why I followed that smokewith this pair of eyes. It was that it didn’t needor require my beliefthat I leant upon it as a tired workerupon a gate. Source: Poetry (November …

Morning Coffee # 17

Where the author pretentiously post a poem he enjoys. Look to the New Moon BY MAI DER VANG If you must hear      the storyof my turbulent gaze      after waking, the march of my hours      to hermitinto a higher body,      it is that whatever you put        …

Morning Coffee # 16

Where the author pretentiously post a poem he enjoys. Duty Natasha Trethewey When he tells the story nowhe’s at the center of it, everyone else in the housefalling into the backdrop— my mother, grandmother,an uncle, all dead now—props in our story: father and daughtercaught in memory’s half-light. I’m too young to recall it,so his story …

I need your help!

I think anyone who has attempted to write poetry knows that writing something that people enjoy and relate to is like winning the lottery without buying a ticket. Even harder is to show your poems to family and friends, either because its about them and would be uncomfortable to have them critique a poem showing …

Morning Coffee # 15

Where the author pretentiously post a poem he enjoys. The Blue Terrance BY TERRANCE HAYES If you subtract the minor losses,you can return to your childhood too:the blackboard chalked with crosses,the math teacher’s toe ring. Youcan be the black boy not even the buck-toothed girls took a liking to:this match box, these bones in their funkmachine, …

Morning Coffee # 14

Where the author pretentiously post a poem he enjoys. The Immigrant’s Song BY TISHANI DOSHI Let us not speak of those days when coffee beans filled the morning with hope, when our mothers’ headscarves hung like white flags on washing lines. Let us not speak of the long arms of sky that used to cradle us …

Morning Coffee # 13

Where the author pretentiously post a poem he enjoys. Kai Carlson-Wee Thresher There has to be a tree. There has to be a sky. There has to be a chicken-hawk skating the dust rising out of a thresher. A ploughboy walking with a turtle in the head-high corn. There has to be a pool with a swirly slide entering the …

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