Archive for the ‘Poems’ Category


Posted: Tuesday, September 11, 2012 in Poems
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I required wine
and you brought two bottles to the beach,
where I undressed you

the common way—imagining it.
You lodged yourself
in the way of some fantasies,

blocking my view of the north side of Paris.
You were the color of almonds

almost burnt in a dry pan,
but you could not rival Paris.

— Jasmine V. Bailey

Jasmine V. Bailey is Web Editor for 32 Poems and was the 2010 O’Connor creative writing fellow at Colgate University. Her chapbook, Sleep and What Precedes It, is available from Longleaf Press and her book-length manuscript, Alexandria, is forthcoming from Carnegie Mellon.


I sleep cold at low tide,
back to a naked beach

opening herself to the Pacific.
I own no Nook, cell phone, boat,

wear old jeans, rag coat —
sift trash, eat molded cheese,

ketchup packs from burger sacks,
fallen fruit off condo trees.

I text my name in water, on sand,
under a moonless sky, pee hate

through the graveyard gate
when headstones tug at my thighs.

— Timothy Pilgrim

Timothy Pilgrim, a Montanan and journalism professor at Western Washington University in Bellingham, is a Pacific Northwest poet with over 130 published poems. His work has found a home at journals such as Seattle Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Windfall and Meadowland Review, as well as anthologies such as “Idaho’s poets: A Centennial Anthology” (University of Idaho Press). Google him or go to

I hate and love. You wonder, perhaps, why I’d do that?
I have no idea. I just feel it. I am crucified.

— Gaius Valerius Catullus (84-54 B.C.)

(translated by Peter Green)

Once I pass’d through a populous city imprinting my brain for future
use with its shows, architecture, customs, traditions,
Yet now of all that city I remember only a woman I casually met
there who detain’d me for love of me,
Day by day and night by night we were together–all else has long
been forgotten by me,
I remember I say only that woman who passionately clung to me,
Again we wander, we love, we separate again,
Again she holds me by the hand, I must not go,
I see her close beside me with silent lips sad and tremulous.

— Walt Whitman


Posted: Thursday, December 15, 2011 in Poems
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this is how i capitulate:


in overgrown curves and sly ditches

call it rib-banging with an ant farm in my arms

weathering without ever looking up

the slow death of being


nobody twice

in the same bed.


Peter Schwartz’s words have been featured in Wigleaf, Opium, and the Columbia Review.  He’s also an artist, comedian, and dedicated kayaker.  More at:

Why We Read Poetry: Exhibit 4: Berrigan

Posted: Saturday, September 3, 2011 in Poems
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after Arthur Rimbaud

Sweeter than sour apples flesh to boys
The brine of brackish water pierced my hulk
Cleansing me of rot-gut wine and puke
Sweeping away my anchor in its swell
And since then I’ve been bathing in the poem
Of the star-steeped milky flowing mystic sea
Devouring great sweeps of azure green and
Watching flotsam, dead men, float by me
Where, dyeing all the blue, the maddened flames
And stately rhythms of the sun, stronger
Than alcohol, more great than song,
Fermented the bright red bitterness of love
I’ve seen skies split with light, and night,
And surfs, currents, waterspouts; I know
What evening means, and doves, and I have seen
What other men sometimes have thought they’ve seen
Ted Berrigan

Barbara Hoffert at Library Journal provides a nice preview of upcoming poetry publications here.


  • Alice Notley, one of the most experimental and visionary poets working today, will publish  a new book, Songs and Stories of the Ghouls.
  • A new Selected by Nobel Prize winner, Czeslaw Milsosz, Selected and Last Poems: 1931-2004, includes 40 late poems, including a number translated by his son.
  • A new Selected by the great German Expressionist, George Trakl,  Song of the Departed: Selected Poems of Georg Trakl, translated by Robert Firmage.
  • Plus new books by D. A. Powell, Nathaniel Mackey, Yves Bonnefoy and many others…

A Bunch of Lonesome Heroes

A Thousand Kisses Deep

Ain’t No Cure for Love.

Because Of

Love Itself

A Singer Must Die

Waiting for the Miracle.

By The Rivers Dark

The Old Revolution,

The Butcher

The Captain

The Faith

The Law

Night Comes On

Light As The Breeze


Take This Longing

Take This Waltz,

Sisters of Mercy,

Tonight Will Be Fine

True Love Leaves No Traces

Way Down Deep.

Why Don’t You Try,

Winter Lady?

You Have Loved Enough

Everybody Knows

You Know Who I Am,


— Christina Murphy

Christina Murphy lives and writes in a 100 year-old Arts and Crafts style house along the Ohio River. Her writing appears in a number of anthologies and journals including, most recently, MiPOesias, A cappella Zoo, PANK, Blue Fifth Review, POOL: A Journal of Poetry, Boston Literary Magazine, and Counterexample Poetics.

We do not publish pornography,
society gossip, or poems about cats
I read. “Oh, well,” I sighed
at my spread-eagled harlot
as she chatted on the phone
with her senator brother.
“I guess they’re not for me.”
Snickers purred in agreement.

— Daniel M. Shapiro

Daniel M. Shapiro is a schoolteacher in Pittsburgh. He is the author of the chapbook “Trading Fours” (Pudding House Press, forthcoming) and co-author of “Interruptions” (Pecan Grove Press, 2011), a collection of collaborations with Jessy Randall. Some of his recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in Lily, SOFTBLOW, and Borderline.


Posted: Friday, May 20, 2011 in Poems
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I walk from room to room.
A mangled ballpoint pen.
I trip each mousetrap.
Wince. What might have been.
—  John Popielaski

Some of John Popielaski’s poems have recently appeared in Forge Journal, Post Road,  Redivider, and White Whale Review. His chapbook O, Captain appeared from The Ledge Press in 2008.