Poetry Near You

Find poetry readings, workshops, festivals, conferences, literary organizations, and poetry-friendly bookstores, and learn more about poets laureate, in your area.

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See a list of all state poets laureate.

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Color - Caste - Denomination - (970)

Color - Caste - Denomination -
These - are Time's Affair -
Death's diviner Classifying
Does not know they are -

As in sleep - all Hue forgotten -
Tenets - put behind -
Death's large - Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand -

If Circassian - He is careless -
If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde - or Umber -
Equal Butterfly -

They emerge from His Obscuring -
What Death - knows so well -
Our minuter intuitions -
Deem unplausible

A Dream of T'ien-mu Mountain

Speak of the Blessed Islands men from the Ocean’s brim.
Truth is hid in their endless billows and mist-wreaths dim.
Tell of the T’ien-mu Mountain men in the land of Yore,
Seen there, when rainbows scatter, and clouds conceal no more!
Reaching up to the zenith, the skyline it seems to fill,
Huge like the Sacred Mountains piled over Ch’ihch’eng Hill.
T’ien-t’ai Mountain is fifty myriads of feet in height,
Crushing, about to fall, soaring in awful might!
Seeing, I longed to dream of Wu and the land of Yore:
Flew one night on a moonbeam over the Mirror’s shore.
Moon, that reflected my shadow dark on the lake below,
Carried me thence to Yen-ch’i, land that the spirits know.
Place where the ancient Hsieh dwelt is yet to be seen.
Gibbons howl by the water dimpling so purely green.
Bound on my feet the clogs were used by Hsieh of old,
Mounting the dun clouds ladder, halfway up I behold
Sea and Sun; and I hear mystic carols in Space.
Crags and hollows commingled, hard is the road to trace.
Flower-drugged, I lean on a rock. Lo! Night her shadow flings!
Bears’ roars and dragons’ bellowings boom over rocks and springs!
Startled, how forests quake on ridge over ridge of crags!
Black are the sombre clouds, waiting the rain to pour.
Placid the water still; above it the mist wraith lags.
Flash! and the hollow hills blasting the lightning tore.
Crash! and the stone gates burst of the vaulted sky in twain.
Boundless those azure spaces; end is there none in view.
Sunlight and moonbeams commingle golden and silver hue.
Clad in rainbows, and mounted on coursers of rapid wind,
Lords of the clouds come trooping; and trooping more behind.
Tiger roar of the drums, psalteries’ oriole note.
Orderly mixing disorder, crowding the genii float.
Suddenly feared my soul; twanging my spirit leapt.
Startled and trembling sprang I. Sorely I sighed and wept,
Feeling that I was awake; that it was but a dream now past.
Gone all those roseate hues the mist-wreaths had mingled last!
Thus are the joys of life! for all things pass away.
Streamlike flowing a-down, old Time will never stay.
Now, as I bid you farewell, when will you turn again,
Over the verdant mountains loosing the White Deer’s rein?
Wishing to go, we ride it seeking the famous hills….
Eyes must I bow, and body bending, submit to serve
Rich and powerful below, where never I may deserve
Happy a thought to think, or carelessly laugh at ills?

Jasmine

With dusk’s slow bleed, the scent comes back 

from beyond our gate, sickly-sweetly powdering the yard

and its scattered buckets, chalk, decapitated 

plastic fauna—how all the bright junk 

rushes to the pixelated surface 

in the final minutes before remorse 

douses the world in itself. High-tops on the phone wire

already mortared into silhouettes, like crows.

Roof rat in the plum tree, synching its intricate listening 

with the stop-start taps on my MacBook 

ten feet beneath. Wondering what’s taking us so long

to vanish. Its tail pulses from its rich perch 

with what I thought I had once—a hunger 

so absorbing it becomes, while nothing changes,

its own reward. Some hidden dark

where you could crouch and find a pattern. 

While nothing changes; while the scent of jasmine

flutters and drifts, like sympathy, living for itself.