Poem of the Day
Yellow Striped Pajamas
By Shamsher Bahadur Singh
walking silently on his paws, he emerges from the semidarkness and disappears into it.
Poetry: V-Z
Labor Day 6:IX:65
By Philip Whalen
You’re the only creature I really love
Aside from Mama and my Teddy bear
Lemon Trees
By Philip Whalen
Perhaps today I understand the saying
“We’re all miserable sinners.”
The Garden
By Philip Whalen
The landlady’s wearing her OLD WOMAN costume—
Shirakawa head-rag, blue droopy bloomers.
White balloon-sleeve apron top.
The Grand Design
By Philip Whalen
Top of the fountain jet
White diamond liquid sun fire
The Baby commits evil deeds unseen.
The Task Rejected
By Philip Whalen
We all went to the Zoo.
That’s one thing done.
The Winter
By Philip Whalen
Why do I fear the true winter death to come
I guess I’ve lived without seasons much too long
To the Muse
By Philip Whalen
Dear Cleo, I can’t complain about your absence
Nor excuse my failure to call you sooner
I mistook you for your sister and
Alphabet’s End
By Susan Wheeler
So I’ll speak ill of the dead. A was crooked,
planting the small left finger of the raccoon in the upholstery
before he sold the car. B made certain to point out Celia’s
Debates
By Susan Wheeler
Damn it Graw you’ve got the sponge
on the wrong side of the ketchup bottle.
Have not shithead. And thus we drift
Knit in Your Will
By Susan Wheeler
Gentlest hull of bond, tendons that bear
to work a gait, sentiment that brought you here:
at the window in the dark, speaking tongues