Poetry Archives - Baltimore Post-ExaminerBaltimore Post-Examiner

A Poor Man’s Dream

“ray light morning fire lynch, yester pain in dreams comes again” opening like eyelids resistant to the existence of realities persistent gleam and struggle seems to require an immunity to truth just to swallow the late night placebos of poetry […]

A Poor Man’s Dream

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“ray light morning fire lynch, yester pain in dreams comes again” opening like eyelids resistant to the existence of realities persistent gleam and struggle seems to require an immunity to truth just to swallow the late night placebos of poetry […]

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Steel Stories #2

(The United Steelworkers monument to workers killed on the job stood in front of Local 9477’s union hall before its relocation to a nearby park following the shutdown of

Shakedown

Same guy, ponytail now gray, still strong, enduring as the word, scrappy. Larry the legend, busted ass, eight hours in the mill, then, on sweltering afternoons, hammered shingles onto steep roofs, hit the bar at nightfall, sucked down a few beers, did

Edgar Allan Poe and Isolationism: His mysterious years in New York

After leaving Richmond in 1837, Edgar Allan Poe moved to New York City to pursue a position in journalism. Little is known about this period in Poe’s life. He

Edgar Allan Poe’s way of thinking science with Eureka

There’s much more to Edgar Allan Poe’s work than wistful poetry, cleverly sarchastic humor tales or short stories of unspeakable psychologic horror, not to mention the unraveling of intrincate

An Announcement

Here I am Redundant, an Andy Warhol poster A few smears of new thought for variety   Here I am Gripping an iPod Pressing buttons Sitting on a sofa Cushion sliding out from under me As I replay

Stand For Peace

Saturday You will hold a candle, Protect the flame with your palm. Some will carry signs, “Stand For Peace”; There will be song. I will search for my heart In my cluttered room, Windows closed, blinds drawn. I

The Inner Harbor, Baltimore, January 8 a.m.

The dimpled water can’t decide On inscrutable green Or metallic gray.   The sky, a quilt of whites, grays, Patches of scudding charcoal sewn in, Sheds a few loose threads of snow That get entangled in

Etudes without Piano

the reign in Spain drives me insane the moon jumped over the cow spilling milky light did you ever hop while swigging scotch or make a wry word while distilling whiskey or behead a French

A Place of Truth: Busking poet Abi Mott finds verity in verse

Poet Abi Mott braves the cold for the sake of her art in A Place of Truth. (courtesy photo) Take a walk around town and you’re bound to find a

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