Jennifer Moxley–How lovely it is not to go. To suddenly take ill.

Jorie Graham–A rooster crows all day from mist outside the walls.

Mary Oliver–You do not have to be good.

Molly Brodak–boundlessness secretly exists, I hear.

Robert Haas–So the first dignity, it turns out, is to get the spelling right.

Maura Stanton–Who made me feel by feeling nothing.

Melissa Green–They’ve mown the summer meadow.

Ben Mazer–All is urgent, just because it gives, and in the mirror, life to life life gives.

Mary Angela Douglas–The larks cry out and not with music.

Ada Limón–just clouds—disorderly, and marvelous and ours.

Patricia Lockwood–How will Over Niagara Falls In A Barrel marry Across Niagara Falls On A Tightrope?

Kevin Young–I want to be doused in cheese and fried.

Donna Masini–Even sex is no exit. Ah, you exist.

Natalie Scenters-Zapico–apartments that feel like they are by the sea, but out the window there is only freeway.

Cristina Sánchez López–Have you heard strings? They seem like hearts that don’t want to forget themselves.

Emily Kendal Frey–How can you love people without them feeling accused?

Stephen Cole–Where every thing hangs on the possibility of understanding and time, thin as shadows, arrives before your coming.

Marilyn Chin–It’s not that you are rare, nor are you extraordinary, O lone wren sobbing on the bodhi tree.

Kushal Poddar–Your fingers are alight. Their blazing forest burns towards me.

Joie Bose–Isn’t that love even if it answers not to the heart or heat but to the moment, to make it complete?

Stephen Sturgeon–City buses are crashing and I can’t hear Murray Perahia.

Philip Nikolayev–I wept like a whale. You had changed my chemical composition forever.

Tim Seibles–That instant when eyes meet and slide away—even love blinks, looks off like a stranger.

Lori Desrosiers–I wish you were just you in my dreams.

Julie Carr–Either I loved myself or I loved you.

Nalini Priyadarshni–Denial won’t redeem you or make you less vulnerable. My unwavering love just may.

Chumki Sharma–After every rain I leave the place for something called home.

Rowan Ricardo Phillips–It does not not get you quite wrong.

Connie Voisine–The oleanders are blooming and heavy with hummingbirds.

Lynn Hejinian–You spill the sugar when you lift the spoon.

Joe Green–I’m tired. Don’t even ask me about the gods.

Susan Wood–The simple fact is very plain. They want the bitterness to remain.



  1. maryangeladouglas said,

    April 19, 2016 at 2:23 pm

    Thank you.

  2. maryangeladouglas said,

    April 20, 2016 at 3:28 am

    A poem not on single lines but even smaller than, the letters of the alphabet which mysteriously combine to give us a whole language or at least, have that incredible possibility within them.


    old alphabets haunt my dreams
    the ones in dark green
    construction paper red

    the things they said to us
    when we were little
    in capital letters and very loud

    inside our heads,

    the important things we thought,
    on these we counted 1.2.3; the
    glories that would be when we

    reached the end of the times table perfectly;
    the last ones standing in the Spelling Bee
    with perfect penmanship and gold stars

    by our names; where have the clouds gone,
    the ones that we loved then, when
    singing about the rain

    in someone else’s folksong;
    with a cherry bright refrain
    and you, reciting in your sleep

    the things you’ll want to keep
    much later, from fading away
    and all the things we used to play.

    mary angela douglas 19 april 2016

  3. poetrynews said,

    April 26, 2016 at 12:29 am

    How delightful this is to see my name and my line in such good company! – Lori Desrosiers

  4. noochinator said,

    April 26, 2016 at 10:49 am

    For Gary

    I wish you were more of an optimist
    I wish you wanted to install solar, plant vegetables,
    let violets overrun the lawn,
    march against racism, go out to a movie.

    I wish you would drink less, lose the belly
    take walks with me, write with me.
    I wish you liked poetry more, could sing,
    had more money. Okay no that’s not true.
    I wish you were just you in my dreams.

    Lori Desrosiers

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