Poets Nick Flynn and Matthew Dickman

It’s been awhile since I shared some of my favorite poems, so here goes.  These are poems by the incredibly talented Nick Flynn from his book Some Ether (also the author of Another Bullshit Night in Suck City which was turned into the movie “Being Flynn”) and Matthew Dickman from his All-American Poem book of poetry.  Amazing shit, read on.

31P1EPJ8GDL._SY300_Nick Flynn (Some Ether)







A black river flows down the center

of each page


& on either side the banks

are wrapped in snow.  My father is ink falling


in tiny blossoms, a bottle

wrapped in a paperbag.  I want to believe

that if I get the story right


we will rise, newly formed,


that I will stand over him again

as he sleeps outside under the church halogen

only this time I will know Read More

BOMBLOG: Blue Sky by Matthew Dickman

BOMBLOG: Blue Sky by Matthew Dickman.

Poetry of Louise Gluck

The Poetry of Louise Gluck

One of my favorite poets in the world is Louise Gluck.  I like how she can’t quite be tagged.  The Poetry Foundation says her work can’t really be found “confessional” or “intellectual”; she’s a VOICE, strong and honest and beautiful.  Here are some of my favorites.

  First Memory

Long ago, I was wounded.  I lived

to revenge myself

against my father, not

for what he was–

for what I was: from the beginning of time,

in childhood, I thought

that pain meant

I was not loved.

It meant I loved.

The Red Poppy

The great thing

is not having

a mind.  Feelings:

oh, I have those; they

govern me.  I have

a lord in heaven

called the sun, and open

for him, showing him

the fire of my own heart, fire

like his presence.

What could such glory be

if not a heart?  Oh my brothers and sisters,

were you like me once, long ago,

before you were human?  Did you

permit yourselves

to open once, who would never

open again?  Because in truth

I am speaking now

the way you do, I speak

because I am shattered. Read More

Puppet-Maker by Charles Simic : Poetry Magazine [poem/magazine]

from The Poetry Foundation


By Charles Simic Charles Simic

In his fear of solitude, he made us.
Fearing eternity, he gave us time.
I hear his white cane thumping
Up and down the hall.
I expect neighbors to complain, but no.
The little girl who sobbed
When her daddy crawled into her bed
Is quiet now.
It’s quarter to two.
On this street of darkened pawnshops,
Welfare hotels and tenements,
One or two ragged puppets are awake.

Source: Poetry (June 2008).