Sandra Beasley

(1980 / United States / Virginia)

Sandra Beasley Poems

1. Cherry Tomatoes 6/25/2014
2. Color Theory 6/26/2014
3. Drink 6/25/2014
4. Fireproof 6/26/2014
5. Flour Is Firm 6/25/2014
6. Grief Puppet 6/25/2014
7. Halloween 6/26/2014
8. Heirloom 6/26/2014
9. Inventory 6/25/2014
10. Let Me Count The Waves 6/25/2014
11. Love Poem for Wednesday 2/16/2016
12. Metro Section 6/26/2014
13. My Los Alamos 6/26/2014
14. Prohibition Toast 6/26/2014
15. She Falls Asleep In Strange Places 6/25/2014
16. Small Kingdom 6/26/2014
17. Story 6/26/2014
18. The Angels 6/26/2014
19. The Conversation 5/13/2015
20. The Exhibition Was Very Beautiful 6/25/2014
21. The Flood 6/26/2014
22. The Hotel Devotion 6/26/2014
23. The Orchard 6/26/2014
24. The Piano Speaks 6/25/2014
25. The Puritans 6/26/2014
26. The Traveler’s Vade Mecum, Line #346: “the Banks Have Begun To Contract” 6/25/2014
27. The Traveler's Vade Mecum, Line #1181: &Quot;The Calamity Is Not Serious&Quot; 6/25/2014
28. The Traveler's Vade Mecum, Line #4646: &Quot;Vegetation Grows Rapidly&Quot; 6/25/2014
29. Theories Of Falling 6/26/2014
30. Unit Of Measure 6/25/2014
31. Vocation 6/25/2014
32. You 6/25/2014
33. You Are The Day 6/26/2014

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Best Poem of Sandra Beasley

Let Me Count The Waves

You must not skirt the issue wearing skirts.
You must not duck the bullet using ducks.
You must not face the music with your face.
Headbutting, don't use your head. Or your butt.
You must not use a house to build a home,
and never look for poetry in poems.

In fact, inject giraffes into your poems.
Let loose the circus monkeys in their skirts.
Explain the nest of wood is not a home
at all, but a blind for shooting wild ducks.
Grab the shotgun by its metrical butt;
aim at your Muse's quacking, Pringled face.

It's good we're talking like this, face to ...

Read the full of Let Me Count The Waves

The Piano Speaks

For an hour I forgot my fat self,
my neurotic innards, my addiction to alignment.
For an hour I forgot my fear of rain.

For an hour I was a salamander
shimmying through the kelp in search of shore,
and under his fingers the notes slid loose
from my belly in a long jellyrope of eggs
that took root in the mud. And what

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