The Japanese Garden
In 1958 or ’59 when I was sixteen I came up with the idea of replacing my parents’ back yard with a Japanese
Ron Padgett
Filter / Sort
Autobiography
----I was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma in 1942. ----No, I wasn’t. I was born in Salem, Arkansas in 1942. I always say I
Joe Brainard
The Stringtown Prison Blues
A collaborative blues poem written by the Stringtown Prison Poetry Workshop. This time is so hard to do
This Land
Jazz on a Diamond-Needle Hi-Fi
Mama dropped the needle and my heart jumped. It was fascinating, titillating, be-boppin’, foot stompin’, traffic
Deborah J. Hunter
Desiderata
In the valley the treetops are bandaged in a dirty gauze the fields lusty with flames set to startle another growing
Justin L. Bond
To the Knights of Liberty
This verse appeared on the front page of the Tulsa Daily World on November 15, 1917. EDITOR’S NOTE: “The tarring
F.L. Lanford
Center of the Universe
Something goes on here, the echo magic. We step over the spot and echoes bounce from our voices. The warehouse,
Ann Zoller
Building a Frog
Guide the scalpel with milk-wrinkled hands fine-honed point tracing delicate veins. Gently peel back transparent
John Wooley
Poetry and the News
POETRY AND THE NEWS by Scott Gregory 1. There’s a long poem by William Carlos Williams (from late in his
Scott Gregory
Last Paperboys in Oklahoma Carry the News
At five am, thick bundles litter the front porch of the highway patrol, while all the newspaper boys in South Tulsa
Markham Johnson
Dry Oklahoma
dry Oklahoma burns from Ponca to Tulsa green tip pushes through stalk fingering down to shit and char lily hood
Grant Matthew Jenkins
Nearly Empty House
A path is worn smooth in the hardwood floor, heading out the front door. The window above the kitchen sink is cracked
Denis McGilvray
Landscape
Pools of light illuminate the fine, faint under-painting: ghosts appear like a dirt road that ends in tall
Bill Turley
Sundown on the Blue River
White sun hangs just above the falls. You look upstream at cascading water immersed in sound, frozen by its
Ken Hada
Coming Home
On Interstate 35 north of Guthrie, driving through evening shadows I pass a rusting, stale green Chevy bouncing
Ken Hada
Handwritten Letter 1934 (a found poem)
Tulsa Okla. 10th April Mr. Henry Ford Detroit, Mich. Dear Sir. --- While I still have got breath in my
Scott Gregory
Driveway
Again I slid up over the horizon and the lights of Tulsa spread flat out before me. “Ah, there you are,” I
Ron Padgett
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