Poems
Contributors
Authors
Translators
Archive
Plume Issues
The Poets and Translators Speak
Featured Selection
Book Reviews
Essays and Comment
Interviews
Newsletters
Station To Station
Anthologies
About
History and Mission
Staff
Submissions
Menu
ENTER A SUBMISSION TO PLUME
Poems
Contributors
Authors
Translators
Archive
Plume Issues
The Poets and Translators Speak
Featured Selection
Book Reviews
Essays and Comment
Interviews
Newsletters
Station To Station
Anthologies
About
History and Mission
Staff
Submissions
Search
Poems
Sort By:
Date
Title
First Line
Random
Index
Liquidation
Final closeout, clearance sale, you said:
Virginia Konchan
GDR CHINA | LAMB
My housekeeper had the dishes brought
Ricardo Pau-Llosa
The Plumber is Here
The plumber is here
Hsia Yü
Innocence
The birds she could identify—nuthatch, oriole—
Charles Baxter
Two poems by Adélia Prado (from
Miserere
) translated from Brazilian Portuguese by Ellen Doré Watson
On what might be called a street,
Adélia Prado
A Five-Years-Late Note to Jake Adam York
In Chicago, where the light plows over the lake into convention
John A. Nieves
The Night Was Born
This night was born in an old and dust-filled pantry, and yesterday’s – in the
Alexander Ulanov
Pink is the Navy Blue of India
Flea market guy tells me the pornos are five dollars
David Kirby
Happy Hour
I wasn’t supposed to touch the two glazed ceramic turtles
Tara Skurtu
VISITORS
Having just arrived, we are walked down a moonless
Jennifer O’Grady
Riding the Metro-North New Haven Line and Black Mountain Music
The question is what kind of sausage are they—
David Blair
N32P28
Do not treasure or belittle,
Hank Lazer
Previous
1
...
164
165
166
167
168
...
180
Next