Hassan Iftikhar Poems
All the Girls Love Frank
Wolves descend like cute boys:
Smile by smile,
Black eyes under thick dark brows.
Cupids alight from your throat
With hooks and nets
That pull my heart out and leave it ashore.
This was... more
Poet: Angel Esclave rating:  An Inferno Of Sadness
an inferno of sadness
threatens this valley of shame
depression sets in
it's the same old game
my mind cannot see
what tears flood away
it's making me crazy
insane thoughts, here to... more
Poet: Michele Schottelkorb rating: Rose Of All The World
I am here myself; as though this heave of effort
At starting other life, fulfilled my own;
Rose-leaves that whirl in colour round a core
Of seed-specks kindled lately and softly blown
By all... more
Poet: D. H. Lawrence rating: We Were Boys Really
We were boys, really.
Not the great men depicted in history at all.
We talked about girls and sex,
We talked about parties and high school,
We laughed like fools as we roared
Down the rivers in... more
Poet: W. Mahlon Purdin rating: On The Relative Value Of Food Groups
What's all this about wanting
Peas on Earth all the time?
What's wrong with corn, or carrots?
Why don't we ever wish for "World Broccoli!"?
Or ask our children for a little... more
Poet: Elas Giordano rating: Little Pills
What kind of magic does these do?
These things, oblong and blue
I line them up on the floor
My little army of powder-blue poisons
They do not promise a trip
In large quantities, they make you... more
Poet: Tiffany Hall rating: Baby
I coddle you, cuddle you, hold you like a baby.
Your little legs, not quite as chubby as they once were,
dangle well past my arms.
My baby still, you wiggle away from my kisses
and giggle, knowing... more
Poet: Delilah Coyne rating: I Want To Drink The Water Down In New Orleans
the poison in my lungs made them quiver
until I could feel a heartbeat through my throat;
I could not wait until you called anymore.
when your parents left for Mexico,
I swore you'd never... more
Poet: S.S. Skinner rating: Museum Of Fine Arts
In the painting of the pear
I saw four years of wanting
to bite
laid out before a dish.
Behind us, a cello
bound together Renoir
and Rembrandt
Waterhouse and O'Keefe.
We walked through... more
Poet: Angela Cotterman rating: Mindravels
weaving, with mid-stitch precision
uncharted doily snowflake notes
like bird-flight, in swoops
the song of healthy blood, flow
conversing in rhythmic banter
like tap, only deeper, like... more
Poet: Julie Adams rating:
|