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It's world poetry day so here are some (more) of my favorite poems:
What You Missed That Day You Were Absent from Fourth Grade by Brad Aaron Modlin
All Trains Are Going Local by Timothy Liu
Rural Boys Watch the Apocalypse by Keaton St. James (@boykeats)
HOPE YOU’RE WELL. PLEASE DON’T READ THIS. by Lev St. Valentine (@dogrotpdf)
Time of Love by Claribel Alegría
Every Job Has a First Day by Rebecca Gayle Howell
ALL THAT WANTING, RIGHT? by Devin Kelly
Reading by A.R. Ammons
things i want to ask you by Helga Floros
Night Bird by Danusha Laméris
Prayer for Werewolves by Stephanie Burt
The Two Times I Loved You the Most In a Car by Dorothea Grossman
The Yearner by Rachel Long
If I Had Three Lives by Sarah Russell
I Dream on a Crowded Subway Train with My Eyes Open But My Body Swaying by Chen Chen
We Have Not Long to Love by Tennessee Williams
Jesus at the Gay Bar by Jay Hulme
Cracks by Dieu Dinh
and here's part one <3
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i allow myself by Dorothea Grossman
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Dorothea Grossman's charming poem uses a parenthetical in the second line that crystallizes the speaker's voice. Write a poem that similarly uses a parenthetical address at any point.
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A poem by Dorothea Grossman
I allow myself
I allow myself
the luxury of breakfast
(I am no nun, for Christ's sake).
Charmed as I am
by the sputter of bacon,
and the eye-opening properties
of eggs,
it's the coffee
that's really sacramental.
In the old days,
I spread fires and floods and pestilence
on my toast.
Nowadays, I'm more selective,
I only read my horoscope
by the quiet glow of the marmalade.
Dorothea Grossman
(1937-2012)
Listen to Dorothea Grossman read her poem.
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Real…
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Dorothea Grossman
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I have to tell you,
there are times when
the sun strikes me
like a gong,
and I remember everything,
even your ears.
Dorothea Grossman, I have to tell you
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Max Richter - The New Four Seasons – Vivaldi Recomposed – Autumn 3 (Offi...
The library always smells like this:
an ancient stew of vinegar and wood.
It’s autumn again,
and I can do anything.
~In the Library, by Dorothea Grossman
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Dorothea Grossman
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A poem by Dorothea Grossman
New York Minute
The rain surprised us
and of course, all the taxis
dried up and disappeared.
We settled for one of those
glassy hotels
with clean restrooms and
a piano bar
cozily serving up hors d'oeuvres
and standards,
like "Violets For Your Fur"
and "September In The Rain."
I think we were drinking Manhattans,
more as a salute to the moment
than anything else
because we were sophisticated,
but not yet romantic.
Romantic came later.
Dorothea Grossman
(1937-2012)
Image: A solo pianist hits the keys at Melody’s Piano Bar in the former Lexington Bar & Books space (James Keivom for NY Post).
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