There’s not much I can say.

We’re all going to die.
That didn’t come out right.

“I’m doomed,” is so melodramatic.
“I’m so doomed” is cutesy.

“I’m in trouble”
sounds like a confession
on an old-time cop show.

“We’re in trouble now,” sounds like
we’re about to be sent
to the vice-principal—

that loser!

He’d never understand.

Rae Armantrout

Do you ever get bored while urinating?

Are your dreams full of impassioned speeches which later appear nonsensical?

Do you recognize the speakers?

Do you feel they are making a fool of you?

What is the true meaning of the word fool?

Is a wind blowing from heaven?

Do you believe your dreams are previews of the afterlife or world to come?

When you hear someone express a thought which you have also entertained, does this make you feel a) reassured, b) bored or c) threatened?

Do you enjoy reflections? If so, did your mother mimic your facial expressions when you were an infant?

Do floor lamps reflected in windowpanes
resemble distant settlements?

Have you been pre-approved?

Rae Armantrout

If I open my chest
Tear the flesh
Break the bone
Untangle the blood vessels
Dismantle the rib cage
And pull out the beat from the heart
I am positive
That I will find your name buried under the deep tissue of my heart

I have no clue why the feelings hold on to something so dead My pride has been wrangling
My rib cage
To get to the heart to shake it
To wake it the fuck up

I don’t know if this will be the last poem I write about you
But it will feel good when I look at it
And laugh

To know that the feelings that I once had
Are nothing but words on a sheet of paper

Tarriona “Tank” Ball

September 3rd
Today, I killed someone
I took the high school girl I used to be
To the back of the playground
And I hung her with the chains from the swings
That your emotions and I used to dangle on
Everyone will say that I killed her, but I think I saved her life…

Tarriona “Tank” Ball

Out of all the parts of the body that you could be

I never thought you, my love, could be the asshole
I thought that maybe you could be hands
Reliable
Soft
There
Holding
Or maybe tongue
Quick
Ready
Smooth
Or perhaps arms
Big
Wide
Strong
Maybe even chest
Broad
Lay
Rest
But of all the things to be, you choose to be an asshole
Shit
Full

And now… released

Tarriona “Tank” Ball

When I wake up, I think about you

In the middle of my day, I wonder about you
And when I go to sleep… I dream about you
I just can’t seem to get no fucking rest!
Real shit

And, boy, am I tired of this

For someone like you to roam around in my mind
Like a kid at a theme park
If I think about you in my day, can’t I at least dream in peace?
Well, it’s 5:30 a.m.
I guess that’s my answer
Fuck

Tarriona “Tank” Ball

I never thought I expected anything from you
Until the day you hugged me like amnesia
I guess I expected for you to hold me like I was the
Type of thing you could not forget

Maybe I expected too much
Maybe I should have never let your arms
Drive up and down my body
As if they were lost
Looking for a fucking rest stop

Whether it be my body or my heart
Maybe I had too many lights on
Made you feel safe, like I was shelter
The kind of place that you
Hide your boredom in

Don’t touch me if you don’t mean it

Don’t make me feel like some weekend hotel in New Orleans
You’re not yourself here
Maybe I was wrong for expecting more from you
And maybe you were wrong
For giving me something to expect

It’s not my fault you left your intentions in New Orleans
And picked up Misleading, you carried it in your book sack
People will say that you cannot control your feelings
But your hands…

Your hands are your own
And you didn’t just touch me
You held me
You held me like if you let me go, morning would come too soon
As if we only came alive at night

Because soon as the day would hit your back
I would be a stranger to your heart
I would be a foreigner to your eyes

I had no need to wonder how it felt to have a Sun who was
embarrassed by its sky
How dare you make me feel like an eclipse to your shine?
A dark hiding place for your wet dreams
A busy spot for your fingers when they were not busy holding sticks

When morning comes
You will jump, Adam

You will treat me like a friend

And you will visit me while everyone is asleep

I will bend my back to suit your body and you will hold me
Like you should have this evening…
When I asked you for a hug
And your arms felt like quiet
Like quick
And I could hear my confidence walk away with an awkward limp
The type of walk ya get
When a motherfucka like you
Likes to trip someone
That’s walking towards you with the same body
You held them with
So I’m confused…
Was I a punching bag or a pillow?

Tarriona “Tank” Ball

Early Saturday morning, I was googling for an English translation of a Vietnamese song. I couldn’t find what I was looking for, but I came across Vương Thanh’s translation of Nguyễn Du’s Truyện Kiều. Except for attending an afternoon with Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai in DC, I spent most of my day adding the English translation to my Truyện Kiều page. I also redesigned the webpage and added some illustrations. The most consuming part of the project was trying to match 3,254 lines. Since we are celebrating National Poetry Month, I encourage you to read The Tale of Kiều in Vietnamese or English or both. I must confess that the English version is easier for me to understand. Here are a few opening lines:

Within a hundred-year lifespan in this earthly world,
Genius and Destiny have a tendency to oppose each other.
A turbulent mulberry-field-covered-by-sea period had passed.
The things that we saw still deeply pain our hearts.
It’s not strange that beauty may beget misery.
The jealous gods tend to heap spites on rosy-cheeked beauties.
Turning scented pages of an old volume under an oil lamp,
I started reading a long-ago tale of love and romance.

Translated by Vương Thanh

poetry, that which had never failed
failed
all i invented were new ways to arrange things as time On my nerves
every word they say another source of fucking chagrin
in poetry as life, forms appear meaningless before my anger. i cannot find “a logic” aside
from straight dope capable to pierce the exactitude of pure rage. losing the original
thread or intention of the poem emotionally or its having spent itself in encounter with
its Master emotion

Simone White (an excerpt from or, on being the other woman)

So far this year, I have read mostly poetry. I am wondering why I even read poems when I don’t understand most of them. Unlike novels and nonfiction, poems are short; therefore, I can read them whenever I have a few minutes here and there. I can pick up a poem whenever and I don’t have to try to remember what I have read already.

Reading poetry has replaced my endless scrolling on social media networks. I don’t spend time on Twitter, Facebook, or LinkedIn anymore and I have no desire to check out TikTok, Instagram, or any new social media networks. I am becoming anti-social online and poetry keeps me company.

Without a doubt, I am still a novice poetry reader. I don’t have the technical skills to break down poems; therefore, I rely primarily on my own understanding of what I can pick up. My poetry book reviews are based on my own level of comprehension. I can’t tell if a poem is good or bad. I can only tell if a poem speaks to me or not.

When I first started to write about music, I wanted to communicate what I heard. Even though I had no formal music training, I could pick up music elements such as melodies, harmonies, rhythms, vocals, lyrics, arrangements, orchestrations, and improvisations. With poetry, I don’t have a clue. I can’t figure out the format such as the breaks, the spaces, and the flows. Sometimes poems with unique structures I couldn’t tell if I were supposed to read from left to right or top to bottom. I might audit a few classes to learn to appreciate poetry.

Then again, I am always excited when I come across a poem that I could understand. Even if I could find one poem from a collection I read, I am happy with that. Reading poetry books has become finding poems I could post on my blog. To celebrate the National Poetry Month, I will post a poem a day for the entire month of April. Subscribe to my RSS feed for poetry or bookmark my poetry category and enjoy.