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LET ME ASK YOU SOMETHING
Let me ask you something. Is it worse When you are certain and you reverse Your opinion? I was sure Beethoven was better, And now I’m sure Mozart is the greater composer. Is it good to change your...
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HOW MANY
How many kisses do I have for you yet? A thousand kisses for each regret. Two kisses for every sigh we made, When apart from each other, we sighed in the shade. A kiss for every sigh in the sun. A...
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POETRY IS NOT
for William Logan Poetry is not a medium for painting, Yet I see poets painting all the time. “Let’s make a poem a painting! Let’s not rhyme!” And we wonder why poetry is failing. A novelist is great...
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YES, DARWIN
Yes I admit I’m a Darwinist in my thought and wit. If I see the cutest face on a short woman I think, “Oh yes, cute provides hope for Her—hope is natural for the human— A cute face making up for lack...
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POEM WRITTEN WHILE MAKING LOVE TO GERMAINE GREER
Those unable to think abstractly, Will hate abstractly, because feeling needs a place to go. What is the abstract? It is emotion knowing—when we don’t really know. We think with our feelings,...
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YOU WANT WHAT YOU WANT BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT IT
You want what you want because you don’t want it; You want what you don’t want a lot; You cannot want what you want just a little bit, And the next moment you throw it away. You wanted a violin—but a...
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WHEN BEAUTY DOESN’T KNOW IT IS BEAUTIFUL
When beauty doesn’t know it is beautiful, Because beauty wants something more, Who dares to tell the ignorant What ignorant beauty is for? The response will be like the stars Silent, in silent skies,...
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THERE IS NOTHING THAT MUST BE SAID
There is nothing that must be said, Despite what the vain poets say, There is only what should be said, And what we might have said, yesterday. Do you hear nostalgia in “yesterday?” That’s mostly what...
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INFINITE BEAUTY
The beautiful face is like other beautiful faces, The beautiful iconic look other faces share, A beauty instantly recognized which the knowing cartoonist traces, But her face compares to nothing—some...
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INDIAN POETRY— SEPTEMBER
Welcome to another month of 7 Indian Poets in English, a project born from the mind and good will of Linda Ashok. The 7-poets-per-month reviewing began in February of this year, and the experience has...
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THE POOR MIND
Cloudy sunshine emits more light than a lighted room. Compared to nature, the mind is an unvisited tomb, Which in darkness picks over the remains of its dead, Traces of memories fooling itself in a...
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THE MAN IS MORE ARTIFICIAL
The sad is my object, and I play with it in poetry and song. She feels sad as a subject, and feels the sad is wrong. I was able to kiss her and want her and my poetry Loved her, but her love was...
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THE EYE AND THE ARTISTIC SOUL
The eye drinks astronomy And by the perspective of geometry sees, The universe, her children, and the poet’s unease. The farthest star, just out of sight, Is seen by mathematics, if the calculations...
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THE LARGER WANTS TO GET INTO THE SMALLER
Your brain, the size of a nickel, Must confront ten trillion dollars in change Every second of every day. Life Is an endless variety of sadness and torture And your heart keeps saying it’s OK it’s OK....
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YOU PERMIT THESE THOUGHTS
You permit me these thoughts, These hopes, these stairs, these sights From the top, with the city trees in view, As I depart the station. If I saw you, Before I was allowed to know you were My love,...
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DURING THE DEPRESSION
During the depression, I lived richly. During the war, I lived peacefully outside of town. The year the crops and gardens failed, I enjoyed sugary meals from 7-11. When I thought about what I was...
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CRIME IS LIKE LOVE
Crime is like love. How can we prove The criminal did it again and again, And loved us, with love that doesn’t end? The brash detective proves That even a lover, a lover who loves, In one place and...
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WHEN I AM TO THE DARK HOUSE GONE
When I am to the dark house gone, My poetry maybe will travel in hearts a little farther on. But if I failed as a poet, I will not know. I only hoped, and still to the dark house I go. When I am to...
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OH NO, PLEASE HELP US! ANOTHER SCARRIET POETRY HOT ONE HUNDRED
1 Anders Carlson-Wee: Brilliant, empathic poem, “How-To,” published in The Nation—then a mob ends his career. 2 Stephanie Burt: Harvard professor and Nation poetry editor publishes Carlson-Wee—caves...
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NOW THAT I KNOW
No one is real. Everyone is a spokesman for someone, or something, else; Everyone is a puppet for a hidden agenda. A willing, or an unwilling, dupe. And the landscape of secret competition is so...
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