#poem

When is a poem not a poem?

What makes a poem a poem? Poems by e. e. cummings and Stephen Crane e. e. cummings plato told him:he couldn’t believe it(jesus told him;he wouldn’t believe it)lao tsze certainly told him,and general (yes mam) sherman; and even (believe it or not)you told him:i told him;we told him (he didn’t believe it,no sir)it took a nipponized bit of the old sixth avenue el;in the top of his head:to tell him Stephen Crane A man said to the universe: “Sir, I exist!” “However,” replied the universe, “The fact has not created in me A sense of obligation.” One of the most famous situations in a comic strip – pr

Essays - Poetry Letters by Huck Gutman · EN

Workshop

Devising clocks, calendars, Unsettling shapes of time Boundary-laden Weighty items Atomized Totemic miseries and mercies

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Balcony

I have not had a winter to emerge from - Nothing for years and years and years Slow, slow, sudden, wild springtime Glorious as anyone says Bud-green, branching, blooming They do this every year? Stoic, stoics all. I'm in awe. I'll drop into the lateral bands soon It'll all surprise me again, soon They do this every year

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Lilac

Looping split of a rush (Crack a window) spilling apologetics Instructional essentials, ESSENTIALS I will utterly distract myself Utterly (momentous) fleeting Lavish confession

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Orbic

I trace a flightpath portion - Luminous bird, underbelly Saturated in sunset I recall my childhood hand Palming a flashlight in the dark, My own transparency Glowing orange through

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Frontier

Relief of being somewhere unknown Place of no pretense No face to put on Tension giving way Some final sigh dropping expectation Into the slowest, kindest aimless walk Eyes panning, absorbing Little joys

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Velocity

Ramble of work I believe very little in destination Not some grand conviction Just the evidence of experience Stuck in meander

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Mazarine

Being amongst Swaths and swaths of antiquity Is the deepest relief I am As ignorant, as nameless, As collective, as individuated, As proximate to slivers of knowledge As anyone here I can sit, anonymous awe, and breathe

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Masonry

I am feeling the passersby of information I am invoking cloudless blue sky beloved astronomer Patient for nightfall I am considering how alchemy Is a matter of sufficient energy How entropy is a matter of rearrangment How simple we lay it I am settling into a former self My lord how it relaxes me How much I need to be here Peaceful dwelling contour

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“Mirror,” a Poem by Jana Prikryl

I dreamt they took my shoulder, the left one but my arm was still attached, the join a thing I was unable I only knew of it, so mind drew a picture of me in the place reorganized Yet I

Literary Hub · EN