Poets’ Pick

Featured poets from our staff and the community.

Poem courtesy of gwern.net

With the autumn sun

my birthday comes, and it goes;

and the leftover

presents’ discarded wrappings

remind me of my own fate.

Death poems are all just

falling blossoms and nonsense:

dying is dying

Papermachine wrote:

What zeal!

the wild nights spent burning


running up mountains,

churning through paper


With such zeal and joy

did I burn those wild nights

in the candle light,

bounding up paper piles

and scaling mountains of thought


Now decade the third,

and what do I have to show?

Want to featured in our weekly Poets’ Pick. Send your

submissions to ae.carolinian@gmail.com

Categories: Arts & Entertainment, Poets' Pick

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