Poem Swap

Like Wife Swap but without the fighting

336 notes &


We are SO EXCITED to announce the first finalist for the Button/Exploding Pinecone Press chapbook contest: SAM SAX, for his manuscript, gay boys and the bridges who love them. Check out (and share!) his poem, above.

Sam Sax is an MFA Candidate at UT Austin’s Michener Center for Writers. He’s the two time Bay Area Unified Grand Slam Champion and has recently had poems appear in Anti-, The Boxcar Review, Muzzle Magazine, PANK, Gertrude, and other journals.

234 notes &


Desireé Dallagiacomo - “Notes on Loving a Five-Time Felon” (TGS 2013)

"When the neighborhood labels your blood ‘beast’, don’t take it personally. Don’t live up to the hype."

Our first video from the 2013 Texas Grand Slam Poetry Festival!

15,286 notes &

69,135 Plays
Tom Hiddleston
Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden


Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden
read by Tom Hiddleston

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

(Source: hxcfairy, via heroidia)

204 notes &


In the afternoon when the dishes were washedand tables wiped, we rowed out on the lake.I read aloud … The Duino Elegies,while she reclined, one shapely knee up,trailing a hand in the water
She had chestnut-colored hair.Her eyes were changing like the surfacewith ripples and shadows of clouds.
“Beauty,” I read to her, “is nothingbut beginning of Terror we’re still just able to bear.”
—Louis Simpson, from “Sway”Art Credit Henrik Uldalen.


In the afternoon when the dishes were washed
and tables wiped, we rowed out on the lake.
I read aloud … The Duino Elegies,
while she reclined, one shapely knee up,
trailing a hand in the water

She had chestnut-colored hair.
Her eyes were changing like the surface
with ripples and shadows of clouds.

“Beauty,” I read to her, “is nothing
but beginning of Terror we’re still just able to bear.”

Louis Simpson, from “Sway”
Art Credit Henrik Uldalen.

8 notes &

House of Selected Flames

The darkness peals
as each star is inserted. Truly
stars are harmless—I mean
they only hurt themselves. Did I
mention how hot it is?

Wind dips in like a hand, places
water on the nightstand
and then runs
the length of my right leg. I follow
my thoughts at a certain distance.

If you’re awake
and thinking what I am thinking,
you are dead wrong—

I will not disintegrate
amidst the siren’s multiple choice:
the flames doused, a light saved, possibly
locked away forever. Or, d)

all of the above. Fear is
such a dirty dress to wear,
wet across the abdomen
like a faded label that might have read
Fragile, way back when.

—Brett Eugene Ralph

Read this poem and others by Brett Eugene Ralph in Black Sabbatical.

Filed under poetry favorite poems ginna brett eugene ralph

123 notes &

I am the history of battery assault and limitless
armies against whatever I want to do with my mind
and my body and my soul and
whether it’s about walking out at night
or whether it’s about the love that I feel or
whether it’s about the sanctity of my vagina or
the sanctity of my national boundaries
or the sanctity of my leaders or the sanctity
of each and every desire
that I know from my personal and idiosyncratic
and indisputably single and singular heart
June Jordan, “Poem About My Rights"

Read poetry for National Coming Out Day.  (via poetrysince1912)

(via poetrysince1912)

Filed under poetry june jordan favorite poems poem about my rights

6 notes &

I Watch Her Eat the Apple by Natalie Diaz

She twirls it in her left hand,
a small red merry-go-round.

According to the white oval sticker,
she holds apple #4016.
I’ve read in some book or other
of four thousand fifteen fruits she held
before this one, each equally dizzied
by the heat in the tips of her fingers.

She twists the stem, pulls it
like the pin of a grenade, and I just know
somewhere someone is sitting alone on a porch,
bruised, opened up to their wet white ribs,
riddled by her teeth—

With her right hand, she lifts the sticker
from the skin. Now,
the apple is more naked than any apple has been
since two bodies first touched the leaves
of ache in the garden.

Maybe her apple is Macintosh, maybe Red Delicious.
I only know it is the color of something I dreamt,
some thing I gave to her after being away
for ten thousand nights.

The apple pulses like a red bird in her hand—
she is setting the red bird free,
but the red bird will not go,
so she pulls it to her face as if to tell it a secret.
She bites, cleaving away a red wing.
The red bird sings. Yes,
she bites the apple and there is music—
a branch breaking, a ship undone by the shore,
a knife making love to a wound, the sweet scrape
of a match lighting the lamp of her mouth.

This blue world has never needed a woman
to eat an apple so badly, to destroy an apple,
to make the apple bone—
and she does it.                                                                           

I watch her eat the apple,
carve it to the core, and set it, wobbling,
on the table—
a broken bell I beg to wrap my red skin around
until there is no apple,
there is only this woman
who is a city of apples,
there is only me licking the juice
from the streets of her palm.

If there is a god of fruit or things devoured,
and this is all it takes to be beautiful,
then God, please,
let her
eat another apple

From the book When My Brother Was an Aztec.

Filed under poetry natalie diaz favorite poems copper canyon press