bostonpoetryslam
bostonpoetryslam
Boston Poetry Slam
"the best open mic in the English-speaking world," every Wednesday at the Cantab Lounge since 1992
bostonpoetryslam · an hour ago
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Mary Oliver, from Dream Work
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bostonpoetryslam · 5 hours ago
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Sappho, translated by Anne Carson, from If Not, Winter
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bostonpoetryslam · a day ago
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The purpose of having a body at all is to practice, to practice the keeping alive of domestic animals and plants. You dispense to yourself some minerals and water. You expose yourself to the sun and it helps you remember to do the same for those in your charge.
Natalie Shapero, “A Space to Train and Exit,” from Popular Longing
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bostonpoetryslam · a day ago
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The fake teeth sit in a box in the garage. When she died, I touched them, smelled them, thought I heard a whimper. I shoved the teeth into my mouth. But having two sets of teeth only made me hungrier.
Victoria Chang, from Obit
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bostonpoetryslam · 2 days ago
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in five minutes i'm going to wake up and say 'i love you' to the sky. this is our time.  i want your feet on my hands and your head deep in a cloud. i am dizzy with you. pools of light come apart between us all queer and laughter all gay and uproar all insane and growth. i am obsessed with your hands on me and the wind on me and the sun on my hands. everything else can leave me alone.
Joshua Jennifer Espinoza, from I’m Alive. It Hurts. I Love It.
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bostonpoetryslam · 2 days ago
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Most people search all of their lives for someplace to belong to as you said but I look instead into the eyes of anyone who talks to me
June Jordan, “Poem for a Young Poet,” from The Essential June Jordan
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bostonpoetryslam · 3 days ago
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Writing something isn't the same as living it.
Kim Addonizio, from Ordinary Genius
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bostonpoetryslam · 3 days ago
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Humans want to be full of anything at all. And it might as well be affection, dandelions, or letting the boat take you, unmanned, to float wherever you're headed. All gold is an echo of your feet on the ground.
Kayleb Rae Candrilli, “Sestina Written as Through Genesis,” from Water I Won’t Touch
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bostonpoetryslam · 4 days ago
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Before I was a girl, I was an accusation. A bad omen. A piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my mother’s boot.
Ally Ang, “Anti-Ode to Girlhood,” published in Underblong
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bostonpoetryslam · 5 days ago
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My poem grew up here, sitting in this American chair staring out at this lifeless American snow. Black grass dying up out of this snow, through a rabbit’s long tracks, like a ghost sitting upright saying oh.
Kaveh Akbar, “My Father’s Accent,” via the Academy of American Poets
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bostonpoetryslam · 5 days ago
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Mary Oliver, from Dream Work
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bostonpoetryslam · 6 days ago
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crying is nice like fingers through sand pushing apart what they guessed to be solid.
Joshua Jennifer Espinoza, from I’m Alive. It Hurts. I Love It.
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bostonpoetryslam · 6 days ago
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Little soul, you and I will become the memory of a memory of a memory. A horse released of the traces forgets the weight of the wagon.
Jane Hirshfield, “Harness,” published in Poetry
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bostonpoetryslam · 7 days ago
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Even when God flooded the world, he loved it. Even when he promised to destroy it again with cleansing fire. That's the way I want to love. Soul, you raw little pea, there's nowhere left to hide.
Traci Brimhall, “Dear Eros,” from Come the Slumberless to the Land of Nod
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bostonpoetryslam · 7 days ago
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So many poems that I love rely on tricking me into thinking I’m reading something that I’m not reading. I love to be fooled by a poem.
Hanif Abdurraqib, interviewed by Sylvia Gindick for Columbia Journal
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bostonpoetryslam · 8 days ago
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I think poetry is a way of carrying grief, but it’s also a way of putting it somewhere so I don’t always have to heave it onto my back or in my body. The more I put grief in a poem, the more I am able to move freely through the world because I have named it, spoken it, and thrown it out into the sky.
Ada Limón, interviewed by Lauren LeBlanc for BOMB Magazine
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bostonpoetryslam · 8 days ago
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Dalton Day, from Lil’ Ghost Poems
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