Skip to Content
By Rich Villar
lacking a proper entrance
into a poem
about Arizona Senate Bill 1070
By Patricia Spears Jones
And I am full of worry I wrote to a friend
Worry, she replied about what—love, money, health?
All of them, I wrote back. It’s autumn, the air is clear
By E. Ethelbert Miller
We will all lose our jobs
if not today then tomorrow
By Holly Bass
What is a furious dance?
It is not polite.
Does not shuck and jive or shuffle along.
By Jody Bolz
Pages flit above the ruined bookstalls.
Blank or dark with words, it doesn’t matter:
paper is as dangerous as ink—as thought.
By Sholeh Wolpé
Here come the octopi of war
tentacles wielding guns, missiles
holy books and colorful flags.
By Philip Metres
In the green beginning,
in the morning mist,
they emerge from their chrysalis
By Martín Espada
In the republic of poetry,
a train full of poets
rolls south in the rain
By Quincy Troupe
The hours fly quick on wings of clipped winds
like nonsense blown from mouths of hot air—
people—including my own—form syllables, suds
By Francisco Aragón
Despite the absent head (whose eyes
were the green of apples)