Stretches
By HaiAnh
Poems about poems, writers and writing.
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- 1405 reads
On Poetry Readings
There is a bra in this poem, there's a teaser for you!
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- 5 comments
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- 2765 reads
51 and Crockery
I woke to exclamations of the trails the fish left, indecently turned up, like trolley poles. I too, much later, looked on astonished, at the long
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- 972 reads
The Saison Poetry Library Does Not Charge For Overdue Books
A poor poet before Christmas, stubborn coins and a grateful writer.
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- 1048 reads
It’s Pronounced Pro-crast-i-nation
A poem about not writing a poem.
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- 1453 reads
That’s That
with a yuck, ukh, too salty.
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- 1392 reads
Do Typewriters Dream Of Poetry?
Do typewriters dream of poetry? Answer revealed here!
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- 5 comments
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- 1575 reads
Tony Dunne Has Had The Same Song In His Head Since Tuesday
Tony Dunne will not suggest a slideshow, would stuff the gaps with stories, has found enigmas...Tony Dunne has lots to say.
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- 2788 reads
Three Poachers and a Poet in a Sequin Beret
How do conversations like this start? In five-minutes-for-the-haddock queues? Purgatory waiting rooms? A Midland Mainline delay? So that you can imagine it -
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- 1350 reads
I Move In Concentric Circles Now
It seems I am in a mood.
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- 1047 reads
The Creased Dyslexic and the Fine Artist
A public hanging. Tense canvases stretched taut, cadmium poppies grimacing, the wire slack, them: leaning forward, kicking away from the wall. I can spot it from Twenty feet.
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- 1538 reads
Portraits
Sitting was an irritant, loathed: my fringe tickled my wrist , my back itched, my shin did too. Minutes were six weeks long, waiting for you to finish the eyebrows
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- 850 reads
Reading Poetry to the Ravens
A poem about teaching a raven Poe.
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- 873 reads
Reading a Friend in London
Comforting. I pot-lucked a magazine about sadness in fences, found your name dangling by an odd number. It was not like any other page: your hand reached out to pat mine
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- 768 reads
I have found the poetry in this house
I have found the poetry in this house, sunk my fingers deep between the gaps as if they were slabs of ginger cake. I have knocked the stones open with a toffee hammer, pulled out
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- 1462 reads
Instrumental
This is what it is sometimes: the papers sounds like papers people walking like people walking, there is no tomfoolery, it is just a deli they meant no more than to make you want it.
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- 744 reads