“Days kept passing./I remember now./We were drinking red tea./You were telling me about the stars/and all I could think was how your hat/was blocks away sitting/on a pile of raked leaves.”
— "Near Real-Time" in Saint Friend by Carl Adamshick, reviewed by Matthew Daddona
“I feel ashamed for the fat on my cheeks
try to disappear, but an American can be seen from miles away.
And Mom refuses
to hide her real Rolex
even when a watch
is unnecessary.”
— From Souvenir by Aimee Suzara, reviewed by Kenji Liu

An excerpt of Red Doc>, which appears in the The Griffin Poetry Prize Anthology 2014, edited By Robert Bringhurst. Lois Bassen reviews it over at The Rumpus.

“Take off your boots, babe,
swing your thigh over mine. I like it
when you do the same old thing
in the same old way.
And then a few kisses, easy, loose,
like the ones we’ve been
kissing for a hundred years.”
— A poem from Like A Beggar by Ellen Bass, reviewed by Julie R. Enszer.
“I was obsessed with the word ‘boy’, in all its facets,” Jones says. “There are the racial connotations, but also the American-ness of the word, the way it’s used in an S&M context. I just kept turning the word over and finding more angles, more things to write about.”
Saeed Jones: Prelude To Bruise | Brooklyn Magazine
“The universe is my obsession:
the sea and the sun are
forever mating.”
— "An Alley of Linden Trees, and Lighting…" in To look at the sea is to become what one is by Etel Adnan, reviewed by Patrick James Dunagan
“The poet’s journey involves a series of transformations because to write a poem is, above all, to change your life. And, no less important, to change someone else’s life. A poem is an offering. A poem is a common wealth.”
The Poet’s Journey: Conclusion by David Biespiel
“My daughter and I had not had what they call a “good birth.” Her heart rate had dropped dangerously low, and I’d undergone an emergency c-section. The drugs I took in the hospital set off a slew of other problems, and even two weeks after she was born, my milk was still sluggishly coming in. I was sleep-deprived, anxious, and overwhelmed. So when my graduate student Gretchen wanted to come see the baby, I was reluctant. I didn’t want any student seeing me unwashed and puffy-eyed, weeping because I just wanted to put down the baby long enough to have a fucking bowl of oatmeal. I love newborns, she said over the phone. My sister has a baby. Then she added: I could hold her while you take a nap or shower.”
“I like to go back and read poems that I wrote fifty years ago, twenty years ago, and sometimes they surprise me—I didn’t know I knew that then. Or maybe I didn’t know it then, and I know more now. You know that old song about the young person who at ten knew that his dad and mom knew everything, then at fifteen he couldn’t believe they knew nothing, and then at twenty he was amazed that they learned so much in the last five years? I like that because that’s the way learning is. So I enjoy going back to see some of the old poetry. I also know that I write more slowly now, and I don’t use as much rhyme anymore. That may be because I’m not walking as much as I used to. At my age I’m doing well to get around at all so maybe that’s what has got me in a long meter. [Laughs.]”
“The subject of the poem usually dictates the rhythm or the rhyme and its form. Sometimes, when you finish the poem and you think the poem is finished, the poem says, “You’re not finished with me yet,” and you have to go back and revise, and you may have another poem altogether. It has its own life to live.”