Contemporary American Poetry for the Twitter Age

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Young American Poets
A weblog devoted to poetry and short stories

young poets wanted

we welcome submissions by poets born on or after july 20, 1970, from all 50 states, the district of columbia, puerto rico and all territories of the united states of america

read our guidelines here


Young American Poets
Celebrating one year online!

touching hard back to soft underbelly

Lee Miller is laughing at Jean Cocteau
All black and white silhouettes
Because they are wrapped in cellophane
In a museum, dusting thin
With trumpets lining up to bathe beside her in Hitler’s bathtub

Marilyn Monroe reminds me of a summer’s afternoon
Drinking cheap week old uncovered wine
From a pint glass
Staring at a stiletto
Peering out from under a beaten couch

They be dancing under the umbrellas
Large and striped docile
Taking photographs with gasmasks
A strike away like a soldier you know
Us civilians, looking fat like santa
Blaming placed on bottom sole
Scuffed to a fine polish

When her voice crackles under incendiary bomb blasts
Picasso flashes a rounded hand claw shaped
Towards the showgirls lining my window sill
A dull throbbing castrating senses
Making America look dull like oyster colored fridges


matthew wedlock (Taunton, MA, 1984)

great David, Jane and me as either one of them

great David set the pace for innovation
inhalation, dead crumb sophistication
and there he went batting his eyelashes
after years of deprivation, bursting,
chilling bones, res non verba,
rest on Valium, sleeping in cars,
strained joints, started over,
he made it

great David said it was all cool
but his neck grew worse
waited forever to marry Jane
should have licked her forearm
when there was time to
but he set the pace and then it was too lame
and layed sedated and forgetful

rate David as a demonic lover
an accident waiting to happen
a car pooling affair with no HOV
Jane wondering and hovering and
emotionally stimulating as she was
two happy hearts beat as one
but she had better beatings to ponder

and then great David went ballistic
lost all composture and tore his worst disguise
a familiar tragedy not for the light spirited
from downtown to the suburbs at 90 miles per hour
the ladder vibes and empty rooms with no view
insane amounts of pain and debt,
like asphyxia on a summer weekend

I'm sick of it all protested David
and Jane was all over the place
took her basket, lost her patience
begged in silence, could not get over it
speeds on the beltway going nowhere
hands tied, cold blooded and belonging to none,
a shoestring, and some more pills for desert

You wish them well and would have enjoyed
knowing them better
but all in all, great David set the pace,
Jane belongs to no one,
the road is the road is the road,
begging in silence, stretching once and again,
ageing, bleeding still from minor damages


dan ariston (Cambridge, MA, 1979)

in stereo where available

My life was dust and scratches
Missing frames, poorly enacted
Reel after reel
Silent

I was a faded projection
In a seedy forgotten theater
A battered clown
Merely waiting for The End

Enter third act, you
A bulb enlightment
Twenty-four times per second
Redeeming

My life was Glorious Black and White
You turned it Technicolor
Full Cinemascope
In Stereo where available


eugene sanders (Atlanta, GA, 1970)

if i could sleep tonight

in silence bails my lining
been way patient for the owls
in plastic, in screaming
bears no anger

tailored fits bargained
got so lucky
laundered
fantastic

taming old flames and recent fires
farming sperm
i've been flexible, elastic
patron of the lard

stuffed nose can't breathe properly
a rhino size rhinitis
making it all up for loopholes, sideways, shortcuts
and marriage

if i could sleep tonight i'd ask her
let me out and breathe in silence
for tonight i'm off, end is nigh
an old snore
a snare
no answer


bastian villalobos (Dallas, TX, 1972)

german beer

My credit card got cancelled
But I’m at home, safe and warm,
Drinking german beer
Cheers!

My left testicle swollen overnight
It looks like a tennis ball
But I’m uninsured
Ain’t life great?

My parents absent
Estranged from my friends
No special someone to live or die for
Not even a pet

My face raided with scabs,
Gaining weight from eating
Fast food everyday
Jerking off my only workout

My life at crossroads
Stale, a sinking boat,
A slow descent without warning
Trying to look cool

My life at crossroads
Pale, a smoking joint,
Blown and worn by solitude
Drinking imported beer

Cheers!


david weinglas (Montevideo, MN, 1978)