Poetry

This is Thin Air Online’s Archive of pieces that are classified as poetry, both long form and short.

  • Three poems by Jon Pierce

    1 of 0    if you read this as if you read this as if you read this as if you read this as if you read this as if you read this as     Doom Abaca, dead; a cab, a decade fagged, a hijacked lima bean, an opal ‘q,’ ransomed; a strumpet, and…

  • Dear Watcher, by Jenn Powers

    Dear Watcher,  1  Be calm. Categorize by level of threat. File by style. A red jagged letter needles my skin. Tell myself this is a joke. Linger in the hallway after school. Back pressed against the lockers. Look left. Look right. Wait for the invisible man who hides like sin and speaks like fire. Why…

  • Two Poems by Genevieve DeGuzman

    Boats She stands at the edge of the dock thinking to set off for anywhere               even the redeye of the storm. But the boat drifts dragging a net of obligations, heavy barnacle gowns              clanking a train behind her. Because the question is always…

  • Guns Are People, Too, by C.J. Miles

    People have been dying since people were people. I’m buying a lottery ticket so I can afford to take every assault rifle off the market, drop them into the middle of the Atlantic. Imagine an octopus at a shooting range: goddamn goddamn goddamn goddamn goddamn goddamn goddamn. Goddamn. Everyone who dies while someone is writing…

  • Star Scatters by Laura Pastorino

    I saw someone nail the moon into the pavement in Northwood last night. They ripped the plywood off and splattered constellations no one had ever heard of. Watched as the stars and the carpenters went shifting, writhing, dancing on top of black waves. They cluster into the nails, spiraling away, winking as they sink into…

  • A Poem for What Could Fit in my Pocket by Grace Day-Strosnider

    How do I live with your ghost? Dishes in the sink, voices in the walls. This house is not big enough for three. In my defense, his hands. In my defense, his lips. In my defense, his perjury. In my defense, I wish to die so I may come back to you.

  • 3 Poems by Ashley Kunsa

    Standing in the Garden of Myself Where My Lover Misplaced a Rusting Trowel sweet nectar of firebush plumbing the fraudulent ____________________________________this argument from broken deities __________________does it matter?   ________________________as light unspools across the thorax of _________________________________________inevitability___________________wading _____course you don’t know me _________________________________________________in this winter-colored dress, my wine-streaked cheeks, their hasty bloom _____________________a zebra longwing…

  • RW, #67: Three Years Later, by Orion Redgrave

    RW, #67: Three Years Later, by Orion Redgrave

    “there is no shape he wants to occupy more than his own, the shape he once held…”