other people's poems, poetry

spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

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poetry

Stacy R.

he punctuates
every sentence
with “you know
what I’m sayin?”

says the poet is
like Kurt Cobain
claims she must not
like celebrity

or

“telling the same
story a million times
on the today show”

we tracked
down his
birth certificate

it says “Louisiana”

foster care

gay

skin black
as midnight
sky

he makes observations

uses too much
sugar in
the coffee
we bring

says he sleeps
outside
and respects
spiders

says

“I just don’t want
them to touch
me”

Standard