Film Reels Burn Faster Than You'd Believe, but don't try at home • National Poetry Month

Imagine approaching strangers and asking them to write a poem on the spot. Now imagine doing it in New York City. On the subway. Every day. It's the inspiration behind 365 Day Subway: Poems by New Yorkers (which also is on Facebook). 


Film Reels Burn Faster Than You'd Believe, but don't try at home


Film reels burn faster than
You’d believe
Like pages from your diary or
That shopping list of yours
I found
And tossed into the sun.

Remember that frolick we
Spent dancing
In the weeds of Coney Island?
The water froze our hearts but
Those rollercoasters smashed
Into our brains, so
It turned out alright.

When I packed your things
Up
I hid the box up in my closet
At home, tied in that
Bow you made of
Human hair,
And rolled
Down the hills
Into the bloody bloody dust
Of tomorrow.

By Ben 

Courtesy 365 Day Subway: Poems by New Yorkers

All Hallow's Read, An Excellent Tradition — Now with Poetry

So, Neil Gaiman encourages you to — well, let me let him tell you himself.

Long story short, give friends, family — even total strangers — scary books to read.

I think that's a lovely idea.

Personally, I include a Halloween poem with candy for my trick-or-treaters, and take the poem to work for wide distribution.

Stop by Hedgehog Lover on Halloween to see what poem I chose this year.

Can't wait? Check out the poem from last year. Or the year before. Try Halloween 2012. Seriously, I'm a fan, and I know you will be, too.

See you October 31!

Poem to First Love — National Poetry Month

If you have signed up for Poem-a-Day, you may already have seen this poem. If you haven't signed up via the Academy of American Poets website, what are you waiting for? 

Poem to First Love

To have been told “I love you” by you could well be, for me,
the highlight of my life, the best feeling, the best peak
on my feeling graph, in the way that the Chrysler building
might not be the tallest building in the NY sky but is
the best, the most exquisitely spired, or the way that
Hank Aaron’s career home-run total is not the highest
but the best, the one that signifies the purest greatness.
So improbable!  To have met you at all and then
to have been told in your soft young voice so soon
after meeting you: “I love you.”  And I felt the mystery
of being that you, of being a you and being
loved, and what I was, instantly, was someone
who could be told “I love you” by someone like you.
I was, in that moment, new; you were 19; I was 22;
you were impulsive; I was there in front of you, with a future
that hadn’t yet been burned for fuel; I had energy;
you had beauty; and your eyes were a pale blue,
and they backed what you said with all they hadn’t seen,
and they were the least ambitious eyes I’d known,
the least calculating, and when you spoke and when
they shone, perhaps you saw the feeling you caused.
Perhaps you saw too that the feeling would stay.

by Matthew Yeager
courtesy poets.org

Poetry Wednesday: My Yoko Ono Moment

My Yoko Ono Moment

for Nick Twemlow

It’s annoying
how much
junk mail
comes through
the slot
& accumulates
at the foot
of the stairs
mostly menus
from restaurants
in the neighborhood
endlessly
coming through
the slot
despite the sign
we put on the door: No Advertisements
No Solicitors
One night
I scoop up the whole pile
on my way out
(as I do periodically)
& dump it
in the trash can
on the corner
of West Broadway & Spring
just as Yoko Ono
happens to be strolling
through SoHo
with a male companion
She watches me
toss the menus
then turns to her friend
& says, “I guess
no one reads those.”

by David Trinidad

courtesy poets.org