http://www.poetryfoundation.org/foun...html?id=186210
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http://www.fishouse.org/
Forgive me if this has already been posted here, but I thought people who love contemporary poetry would love it! My teacher is actually on this site, which is how I learned about it...but it really does feature some great up and coming poets like V. Penelope Pelizzon and Oliver de la Paz (well, those are ones I enjoy regularly).
{ http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/14/books/14bourne.html } ...and thanks to shortstoryfan for her postings.
When I ran away from a home country
Left the girlfriend and the village
Took the momentum from Hungary
Run over the Alps, Pyrenees
And jumped across the Atlantic
I caught a Greyhound bus to Austin
And came through Sacramento
On the dirty bus station of LA
Crowded with a colorful graffiti's
Took an apartment on Columbus Avenue
Got employed as a carpenter
But it did not last
It was expected to forge
Social Security Number
Then I met an agent
Who did not want me back to the roots
But to launch me
As an stunt in a movie of children
From the corn
Some fat lady was eager for love
So that year I served as a doormat
I paid for the whiskey with smiles
To one toothless Russian women
That’s how I succeeded in Hollywood
At present time I'm writing the scripts for the series
That you at home watching
With a open jaws
Mother, what you heard is true
That’s how I beat a history
Yes, Juan would also like to say hello
But right now he has a full mouth
Of my pride
POEM How the Pope is Chosen by James Tate http://www.poetryfoundation.org/arch...html?id=179801
5/6/10... a review by David Orr --- Robert Hass’s Empathy and Desire ---
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/16/bo...html?ref=books
...from the Los Angeles Times: "What made Dylan Roar" ... http://www.latimes.com/entertainment...,2403126.story
FROM THE DRESSING-ROOM
Left to itself, they say, every foetus
would turn female, staving in, nature
siding then with the enemy that
delicately mixes up genders. This
is an absence I have passionately sought,
brightening nevertheless my poet’s attic
with my steady hands, calling him my blue
lizard till his moans might be heard
at the far end of the garden. For I like
his ways, he’s light on his feet and does
not break anything, puts his entire soul
into bringing me a glass of water, ...
{one of two stanzas}
THE ALBERT CHAIN
Like an accomplished terrorist, the fruit hangs
from the end of a dead stem, under a tree
riddled with holes like a sieve. Breath smelling
of cinnamon retires into its dream to die there.
Fresh air blows in, morning breaks, then the mists
close in; a rivulet of burning air
pumps up the cinders from their roots,
but will not straighten in two radiant months
the twisted forest. Warm as a stable,
close to the surface of my mind,
the wild cat lies in the suppleness of life,
half-stripped of its skin, and in the square
beyond, a squirrel stoned to death
has come to rest on a lime tree.
I am going back into war, like a house
I knew when I was young: I am inside,
a thin sunshine, a night within a night,
getting used to the chalk and clay and bats
swarming in the roof. Like a dead man
attached to the soil which covers him,
I have fallen where no judgment can touch me,
its discoloured rubble has swallowed me up.
For ever and ever, I go back into myself:
I was born in little pieces, like specks of dust,
only an eye that looks in all directions can see me.
I am learning my country all over again,
how every inch of soil has been paid for
by the life of a man, the funerals of the poor. ...
{two of four stanzas}
BIG CITY SPEECH
Use meAbuse me Turn wheels of fire on manhole hotheads Sing meSour me Secrete dark matter’s sheen on our smarting skin Rise and shineIn puddle shallows under every Meryl Cheryl Caleb Syd somnambulists and sleepyheads Wake usSpeak to us Bless what you’ve nurtured in your pits the rats voles roaches and all outlivers of your obscene ethic and politics Crawl on usFall on us you elevations that break and vein down to sulfuric fiber-optic wrecks through drill-bit dirt to bedrock Beat our browsFlee our sorrows Sleep tight with your ultraviolets righteous mica and drainage seeps your gorgeous color-chart container ships and cab-top numbers squinting in the mist
© 2009, W.S. Di Piero