The Fringe of Symmetry

I found this videopoem through my friend Laura Mullen, who posted it on facebook. The video is inspired by the poem “Going West” by Maurice Gee. The video is sponsored by the New Zealand Book Council. Fasten your reader’s seat belt. Credits: Film for NZ Book Council Produced by Colenso BBDO and Animated by AndersenContinue reading “The Fringe of Symmetry”

Eclipse the Light & Crudely Divide by Amy King

Milk is a mythical moth that sees its own heart, mostly in summer. Some kind of pillow moves me too and dissolves my palate; I cannot taste the shabby white wings and behold each shadow’s infancy beneath the definition of sleep. I’m the kind of person who rides between towns in terra cotta music, green’sContinue reading “Eclipse the Light & Crudely Divide by Amy King”

Fonder a Care Kept by Heidi Lynn Staples

I was barn. I was razed. I was mot this flame with no’s sum else blue’s blame noir yearning down the house. No, it was I and I blank I bandit blather that louse that fiddle-dee-dee little lame chimera that came as the name yes different. I wracked my refrain, that blousy souse. I wasContinue reading “Fonder a Care Kept by Heidi Lynn Staples”

Toon Tune by Gustave Morin

This is part of a series of post on Visual Poetry that Geof Huth did for the Poetry Foundation.  Here's an excerpt about Gustave Morin's fun example of VisPo: Gustave Morin's primary form is the collage poem. His "toon tune" is a remarkable piece of craftsmanship. Its sixty-three individual fragments of text are cut intoContinue reading “Toon Tune by Gustave Morin”

Get Your New Poetics at Delirious Hem

This month the amazing women of Delirious Hem are posting new writings on poetry and poetics.  Every few days a new essay is presented by poets such as Hoa Nguyen and Evie Shockley.  Visit early and often. [cool quilt art called tsunamisquare by Camilla Engman via flickr]

Reginald Shepherd, Rest in Peace

Almost There was a poem that my sleep wrotedown, the meaning of late afternoon:a brown-eyed boy writing down prayersin a café (or was that me, enrolled in signsof the invisible?). (The leaves of himso green, verdigrised with youth.) To wait for himwould be like drinking wind, buds bruised bycold slant rain. (But how the matterContinue reading “Reginald Shepherd, Rest in Peace”