Photo from PxHere (#946822) Posted Date: 03/03/2017By Tony Hoagland

Photo from PxHere Posted Date: 02/10/2017By Carrie Shipers

Photo from Zuzanna Chromiec @ scop.io Posted Date: May 21, 2020 5:48AMBy Ada Limón

Photo from Gary Cummins @ scop.ioBy Nicanor Parra

Read by Rayann Hijazi Photo from pxhere.comBy Jay Besemer

Read by Wayne Walsh Photo from scopio artist Juan Pablo BezauryBy Matthew Olzmann

Read by Lydon Photo from scopio artist chandan MohapatraBy Steven Duong

Read by Lydon Photo from Dall-eBy Tony Hoagland

Read by Traci Tolbert Photo from scop.io Sudha SurendranBy Mark Wunderlich

Read by Angela South Photos from scop.io Andrii Shablovskyi Scopio ID: 7380317110449By Anna Scotti

Read by John Nightengale Photos from scop.io Oksana Soronovych Scopio ID: 6261676114097 Cory Whitfield Scopio ID: 3938999435287 Joel Woods Scopio ID: 3950833696791 Rye Jessen Scopio ID: 6749953327281By Annelyse Gelman

Read by Me Photo from Vaibhav Kumar @ scop.io Scopio ID: 6262409822385By Margie Piercy

Read by Terry DeBarger Photo from scop.io Scopio ID: 6262379217073By Tadeusz Dąbrowski

Read by Lupita Roasario Carmona Photo from scop.io Scopio ID: 6202780844209By Tracy K. Smith

Read by Lydon Photo from pxhere.comBy Ada Limón

Read by Lydon Poem translated by Clare Cavanagh Photo by Zuzanna Chromiec on Scop.ioBy Adam Zagajewski

Read by Lydon Photo by Zuzanna Chromiec on Scop.ioBy Maya Angelou

Read by Zoe Malia Luz Photo by unknown on PxHereBy Joy Harjo

Read by Steven Potts Photo by Rifqi 'Adil on ScopioBy Rudy Francisco

Photo by Pablo Nidam on ScopioBy Laura Hershey

Photo by Lucas Yamakawa on ScopioBy Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

My Therapist Says Make Friends with Your Monsters José Olivarez we are gathered in truce because my therapist said it was time to stop running, & i pay my therapist too much to be wrong, so i am here. my monsters look almost human in the sterile office light. my monsters say they want to be friends. i remember when we first met, me & my monsters. i…

My Therapist Says Make Friends with Your Monsters José Olivarez we are gathered in truce because my therapist said it was time to stop running, & i pay my therapist too much to be wrong, so i am here. my monsters look almost human in the sterile office light. my monsters say they want to be friends. i remember when we first met, me & my monsters. i…

The Facebook Sonnet By Sherman Alexie Welcome to the endless high-school Reunion. Welcome to past friends And lovers, however kind or cruel. Let’s undervalue and unmend The present. Why can’t we pretend Every stage of life is the same? Let’s exhume, resume, and extend Childhood. Let’s all play the games That occupy the young. Let fame And shame int…

01:32 - Michael DuBon reads his poem, “In the Wash” 03:30 - Extended conversation with Michael on student analysis 17:28 - Michael answers student questionsBy Mr. Lydon

“Instructions on Not Giving Up” Ada Limón More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees that really gets to me. When all the shock of white and taffy, the wo…

Michael DuBon “In the Wash” Arms deep, filth-clad, toilet toil: working at The Ski Tahoe Resort. Scrubbing this mess of spiders, disposing the cast off suppositories. the tracks of geriatric indulgence. Work, where people don’t know how to talk to you. Where the other housekeepers won’t trade Spanish with you because you’re not Latino enough, too A…

Anne Stevenson “The Victory” I thought you were my victory though you cut me like a knife when I brought you out of my body into your life. Tiny antagonist, gory, blue as a bruise. The stains of your cloud of glory bled from my veins. How can you dare, blind thing, blank insect eyes? You barb the air. You sting with bladed cries. Snail. Scary knot …

Marilyn Nelson “Asparagus” He taught me how to slurp asparagus: You hold it in your fingers, eat the stem by inches to the tender terminus, then close your eyes and suck in the sweet gem. First, cook it in its own delicious steam, sauté breadcrumbs in butter separately, combine, eat slowly. As he ate, a gleam in his eyes twinkled with such jeu d'es…

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

Video: https://youtu.be/z90PMOedR3YBy Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

By Mr. Lydon

I did it! I kept this under 20 minutes!By Mr. Lydon

I sound like a supervillain! Oh no! 😲By Mr. Lydon

Did I Miss Anything? Tom Wayman Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here we sat with our hands folded on our desks in silence, for the full two hours Everything. I gave an exam worth 40 percent of the grade for this term and assigned some reading due today on which I’m about to hand out a quiz worth 50 percent Nothing. None of the content of this…

The End A.A. Milne When I was One, I had just begun. When I was Two, I was nearly new. When I was Three, I was hardly me. When I was Four, I was not much more. When I was Five, I was just alive. But now I am six, I'm as clever as clever So I think I'll be six now Forever and ever.By Mr. Lydon

Ode to my Suit Pablo Neruda Every morning, suit, you are waiting on a chair to be filled by my vanity, my love, my hope, my body. Still only half awake I leave the shower to shrug into your sleeves, my legs seek the hollow of your legs, and thus embraced by your unfailing loyalty I take my morning walk, work my way into my poetry; from my windows I…

defining the magic Charles Bukowski a good poem is like a cold beer when you need it, a good poem is a hot turkey sandwich when you’re hungry, a good poem is a gun when the mob corners you, a good poem is something that allows you to walk through the streets of death, a good poem can make death melt like hot butter, a good poem can frame agony and …

Not Bad, Dad, Not Bad Jan Heller Levi I think you are most yourself when you are swimming; slicing the water with each stroke, the funny way you breathe, your mouth cocked as though you're yawning. You're neither fantastic nor miserable at getting from here to there. You wouldn't win any medals, Dad, but you wouldn't drown. I think how different ev…