Category: Poem Of The Day

Arizona Poem of the Day from AZPoetry.com

Ed Mabrey Revolution poem artwork

Revolution by Ed Mabrey

“Revolution” by Ed Mabrey

there’s a revolution. it spins like the
world on its axis, so fast it carries no
sound, no image, not even a vibration and
if you run fast, like a child, and come to
a sudden stop in your sprint, close your
eyes quick, and hold your breath. you’ll
feel it, you’ll hear it just say seconds
behind, or a lifetime ahead. right now,
there’s a Vietnamese boy running through
a field with a pair of Nikes tucked
under his arm, dodging bullets like
raindrops, his blistered feet barely
touching the grass, racing across the mud,
racing against consumerism. the shoes are
not for him, but for his grandmother so
that the time in the field can be
gentler in its monotony. right now, a
boy’s just found a stone, he checks his
weight for strength, it’s grooves for
accuracy, then darts off with his fist
held high, signaling to the other that
the stick ball game was officially on,
never knowing that the the rock he holds
is the last reigning piece to a church
bomb years ago in Selma, Alabama and the
sound he hears played after, when he
cracks a home run, is not the tinkling of
broken glass from Miss Johnson’s window,
but four little black angels crying
tears of joy, cheering him as his feet
hit every base. right now, in the Soviet
Union, where the red curtain might be
tatted, but its’ blood stained glow still
cast over the eyes of everyone living
there, and names like Stalin and Lenin
bring shivers colder than the Hudson in
December, and names like optimism, freedom,
and democracy can get you shot, killed if
you’re lucky. there was a girl sticking
her hand into a military bonfire
ignoring the pain and crackling of her
own skin, she takes out a book half charred,
which reads Three Sisters by Chekov
and tucks it underneath the shirt, not
for warmth, but salvation. right now, a
crackhead had waited 10 minutes longer than
he did yesterday, before going in the cop
and tells himself tomorrow I’ll shoot
for 20. a raced girl with bags underneath
her eyes, and in beneath the legs which
both by now her age stands, on the corner
Main & Champion, and when some Tide
State worker comes by flashing crisp $20
bills she gets on the bus and heads home
for the first time in months. can you
hear me now right now? a boy just ran for
his life to go to school today, some girl
got caught and smacked to some
piece of car, leaving her purse
behind, but not a virginity. can you hear
me now? right now, a man just cut off his
TV and actually had a conversation with
his kids. there is a revolution happening
around us every moment, of every day, and
it is not black power, nor white power, it
is not scary, not tyrannical, it is not
Hitler nor Gandhi, Martin or Malcolm, Mama,
no Nora. it is a young couple’s kiss
behind the bleachers and the old couple
holding hands in the mall, it is loving someone
intensely for 5 minutes, then letting go
when the song ends. it is your misfiring
synapses, your unfit high, your seemingly
miserable existence that still keeps
beating in your chest like some Drummer
Boy hellbent on getting through a
spiritual desert, it is writing a poem or
hearing one. it is your inhale and exhale.
right now, there’s a revolution being
fought right around us. look at the
person next to you. see the battle being
fought in their eyes and recognize it is
just a reflection of the same war being
fought inside you. it’s but the effort to
live your life the way you wish every
moment, every day of this life that you
have and that is the battle and that is
the Revolution and your goal tonight is
a inhale and exhale to living live
inhale, exhale. can you hear me now? if so
then fight on soldiers, ‘cuz the life you
saved this night will be your
own.

Transcribed from the video “Revolution” by Ed Mabrey and Poetry Slam Archives.

Watch Ed Mabrey perform “Revolution” on YouTube

About the poet Ed Mabrey

Ed Mabrey’s poem Revolution is an urgent and powerful meditation on the silent, ongoing battles that define human existence. Unlike traditional revolutions that are marked by violence, politics, or ideological shifts, the revolution in Mabrey’s poem is deeply personal, invisible to the untrained eye, yet ever-present in our lives.

The poem unfolds in a series of vignettes, each capturing a moment of struggle, resilience, or defiance from various corners of the world. A Vietnamese boy runs barefoot, dodging bullets, not for himself but to bring comfort to his grandmother. A child picks up a stone for a game, unaware that it is a remnant of a church bombing in Selma, infused with historical pain. A girl in the Soviet Union risks her life to rescue a banned book from flames—not for warmth, but for the survival of knowledge. A crack addict fights against addiction, pushing the boundaries of self-control. A young woman, forced into sex work, takes her first steps toward reclaiming her life.

Through these moments, Mabrey illustrates that revolution is not just found in grand historical narratives but in the quiet acts of endurance, courage, and self-reclamation that happen right now—in real time, all around us. He challenges the reader to recognize the struggles in the eyes of those around them and to see their own internal battles reflected there. The poem’s rhythmic repetition of “right now” creates a sense of immediacy, making the revolution feel not only inevitable but also deeply personal.

Mabrey’s final call to action is simple yet profound: breathe. The act of inhaling and exhaling, of continuing despite hardship, is itself an act of defiance, a way to reclaim one’s life. Revolution is not just about resistance; it is about existence, about the ongoing fight to live authentically and freely.

Discover more about Ed Mabrey’s poetry and performance legacy here on his bio page.

Get Tickets to see Ed Mabrey, Individual World Poetry Slam Champion, feature at Ghost Poetry Show on April 9th, 2025!

April 9th, 2025 at The Rebel Lounge

Doors at 7:00PM | Show at 7:30PM

Advance Price: $10 + fees 
Day Of Show Price: $12 + fees

21+This is a special Ghost Poetry Show for National Poetry Month! Individual World Poetry Slam Champion ED MABREY features award-winning poetry live and in-your-face in the intimate setting of The Rebel Lounge!

15 poets compete in a poetry slam for cash prizes judged by 5 randomly selected audience members.

To sign up to perform email us at GhostPoetryShow@gmail.com

BUY TICKETS HERE

Arizona by Clarence Urmy. Read Poetry by Arizona poets at AZpoetry.com

Arizona by Clarence Urmy

“Arizona” by Clarence Urmy

A land of mesas and of rocky spires,
Of wondrous canyons and eternal fires,
Of boundless spaces, mighty, grim, and grand,
Where silence keeps the secrets of the land.

About the poet Clarence Urmy

Clarence Urmy’s poem Arizona is a brief but vivid tribute to the breathtaking and untamed landscapes of the state. Through just a few lines, Urmy captures the grandeur and mystique of Arizona’s geography, painting an image of towering mesas, rugged rock formations, and deep canyons that seem to stretch endlessly. His use of language evokes both the beauty and severity of the land, emphasizing its vastness and the powerful natural forces that have shaped it over time.

The poem’s reference to “eternal fires” suggests the relentless heat of the desert sun, the glow of the setting sun against red rock formations, or perhaps even the spiritual and historical resilience of the land and its people. Meanwhile, the line “Where silence keeps the secrets of the land” speaks to the stillness of the desert, where time feels suspended and nature’s history is written in its vast, untouched expanses.

With its concise and evocative imagery, Arizona captures the awe-inspiring essence of the state—its grandeur, its isolation, and its quiet, almost mystical presence. Urmy’s work serves as a poetic postcard, inviting readers to stand in awe of Arizona’s wild and unyielding beauty.

To learn more about Clarence Urmy and his contributions to poetry, visit his poet bio page here on AZpoetry.com.

atlas st cloud grey walls poem artwork | AZpoetry.com

grey walls by atlas st. cloud

“grey walls” by atlas st. cloud

i am laying,
in an empty room.

the temperature is steadily dropping
and frost begins to crystalize on my eyelashes,
playing tricks with my irises.

i am a green eyed boy,
but ice has got me seeing with grey.

grey halls
with grey walls
led me to this hallowed space.

i am laying,
in an empty room.

the ceiling is a motley crew of colors,
galaxies are being spun before me.
two stars collide,
FLASH. BANG. BOOM.
the void opens up.

i stare into the vastness,
and the void whispers back,
“ice cannot kill a phoenix.”

i am laying,
in an empty room.

the stillness of space has no place in this room.
wind begins to howl,
ripping at the walls with nowhere to go.
this wind has teeth and it bites at my skin.

anger manifests monsters,
and this one is trying to
rip, freeze, tear me apart.

i am laying,
in an empty room.

the walls are closing in on me.
i exhale quick and can see my breath in fog.
my skin is beginning to plasticize
and i don’t know if i can move.

there once was a door,
but i can’t move my head to see if it is still there.

i am laying,
in an empty room.

my shoulders start to itch.
warmth floods my systems
and i can feel it in my chest.
my heart begins to beat.

blood flows once more
and something is happening to me.

i am laying,
in an empty room.

my shoulders begin to burn.
a tingle to go along with the itch.
then, suddenly,
i am screaming.

when i wake up,
i am on fire.

i am laying,
in an empty room.

and i sit up.

Originally published in Zilch Qualms, a Phoenix Poetry Slam anthology in 2019.

About the poet atlas st. cloud

atlas st. cloud’s poem grey walls is a haunting meditation on isolation, transformation, and rebirth. The poem places the speaker in an empty room, surrounded by the creeping cold that distorts perception—turning green eyes grey, freezing the breath, and numbing the senses. As the speaker remains motionless, they are enveloped by a void, an expanse of darkness filled with cosmic flashes and whispered reassurances. The line, “ice cannot kill a phoenix”, serves as a powerful moment of foreshadowing, hinting at an inevitable resurgence from the paralysis of despair.

The poem’s structure mirrors a cycle of entrapment and eventual release. The repetition of “I am laying, in an empty room” emphasizes stagnation, reinforcing the feeling of being stuck in an unchanging state. Yet, amid the cold and confinement, fire emerges. The warmth first presents itself as an itch, then an unbearable burn, until finally, the speaker erupts in flames—literally and metaphorically. The transformation is painful but necessary, illustrating a shift from suppression to liberation, from numbness to an awakening.

By the poem’s end, the speaker is no longer trapped in stillness. The final shift—from lying down to sitting up—marks a triumph over stasis, a rebirth from the ashes of struggle. grey walls is a deeply evocative piece that captures the internal battle between despair and resilience, ultimately leaving the reader with the image of survival and renewal.

Discover more about atlas st. cloud and his poetry here on his poet bio page.

A Frothy Limerick About Gail by AZpoet Gary Bowers

A Frothy Limerick About Gail by Gary Bowers

“A Frothy Limerick About Gail” by Gary Bowers

A thirsty young lass name of Gail
Took a long steady pull at her ale
Then with foamy mustache
She proceeded to slash
Through guitar riffs that made the gods wail.

About the poet Gary Bowers

Limericks are a time-honored poetic form known for their playful tone, rhythmic bounce, and humorous twists. Originating from Ireland and popularized in English by Edward Lear, limericks follow a five-line structure with a distinctive AABBA rhyme scheme and a strong, rollicking rhythm that makes them particularly engaging.

Gary Bowers’ limerick embraces these conventions while delivering a vibrant and entertaining narrative. The poem tells the story of Gail, a spirited young woman who enjoys her ale before unleashing an awe-inspiring musical performance.

In true limerick fashion, the humor comes from the unexpected contrast: the image of Gail as a casual drinker, momentarily adorned with a “foamy mustache,” shifts dramatically as she erupts into a powerful, almost godlike guitar performance. The final line, “through guitar riffs that made the gods wail,” elevates Gail’s musical prowess to mythic proportions, transforming what begins as a lighthearted pub scene into an epic rock ‘n’ roll moment.

Bowers’ clever use of internal imagery, humor, and rhythm captures the spontaneous joy of music, the camaraderie of a lively pub, and the unexpected talent that can emerge in the least expected places. The poem’s energy mirrors the rhythmic nature of a great song, making it a perfect example of how limericks can entertain while showcasing a poet’s skill with words and storytelling.

Gary Bowers is known for his sharp wit, clever wordplay, and engaging poetic style. To discover more of his limericks, poetry, and literary contributions, visit his poet bio page here.

Night in Arizona poem by Sara Teasdale

Night in Arizona by Sara Teasdale

“Night in Arizona” by Sara Teasdale

The moon is a chiseled snowflake,
It floats in a sky of pink,
The desert is a hushed whisper,
A breath of stars, I think.
Cacti stand in shadows,
Guardians of the night,
Their spires reach the heavens,
In the pale moonlight.
The night is a desert lily,
Unfolding in the breeze,
Its petals are the moments,
Of tranquil, silent ease.

Summary and Analysis of Night in Arizona by Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale’s Night in Arizona captures the serene beauty of the desert under moonlight, painting a picture of stillness, wonder, and quiet reverence. The poem’s opening line, “The moon is a chiseled snowflake,” immediately sets a delicate yet striking image, likening the moon to something both fragile and precise, floating in a soft, pink sky. This unexpected color palette challenges typical desert imagery, infusing it with a dreamlike, almost surreal quality.

The second stanza brings the landscape to life, describing cacti as “Guardians of the night,” their towering silhouettes standing watch over the desert. This personification lends an air of mysticism and quiet vigilance, as if nature itself is engaged in a sacred ritual of solitude.

In the final stanza, Teasdale deepens the metaphor, likening the night to a desert lily, unfolding gently in the breeze. The petals symbolize fleeting moments of peace and tranquility, emphasizing how time moves differently in the desert—slow, deliberate, and profound.

Themes and Literary Devices:

  • Imagery: The poem’s ethereal descriptions of moonlight, cacti, and flowers evoke a vivid sensory experience, allowing readers to see, feel, and hear the desert’s quiet beauty.
  • Personification: The cacti as “guardians” and the night as a blooming flower suggest that nature is alive and watchful, reinforcing a sense of harmony between the landscape and the passage of time.
  • Tranquility and Timelessness: The gentle unfolding of the desert night creates an atmosphere of peace and reflection, characteristic of Teasdale’s ability to find beauty in stillness.

Teasdale’s Night in Arizona is a meditative and graceful exploration of the desert’s nighttime allure, a place where moonlight and shadows intertwine to create an atmosphere of quiet wonder.

About the poet Sara Teasdale

Sara Teasdale was a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet known for her lyrical style, emotional depth, and deep connection to nature. Her work often explores beauty, solitude, and fleeting moments of human experience. To learn more about her life and legacy, click here to visit her full poet bio page.

Desert Rain by John Gould Fletcher AZpoetry.com

Desert Rain by John Gould Fletcher

“Desert Rain” by John Gould Fletcher

Across the burnished mesas
They march in lines of jade,
The thunder-heads assembled
To crush the light parade.

The shadow of their wingspread
Sweeps through the cañon’s door;
Out leaps a sounding fury,
And torrent floods the floor.

About the poet John Gould Fletcher

John Gould Fletcher’s Desert Rain captures the dramatic transformation of the arid landscape when a storm sweeps across the desert. The poem’s opening lines describe thunderclouds advancing like soldiers, their “lines of jade” contrasting against the burnished mesas—a striking image that emphasizes the rare yet powerful presence of rain in the desert. The storm is depicted as a force of nature both ominous and grand, gathering strength to “crush the light parade,” a possible reference to the sun’s dominance over the landscape.

The second stanza intensifies the sense of movement and power, as the storm’s shadow spreads through the canyon like great wings, darkening the land before unleashing a furious downpour. The rain floods the canyon floor, signifying both destruction and renewal. Fletcher’s use of vivid imagery and personification makes the rainstorm feel like a mythic force, breathing life into the desert while commanding awe and respect.

Themes and Literary Devices

  • Personification: The storm is given life-like qualities, with its “wingspread” casting shadows and its fury echoing through the canyon.
  • Contrast: The bright, sunlit mesas are overcome by dark, jade-colored storm clouds, emphasizing the dramatic shifts in the desert’s ecosystem.
  • Nature’s Power: The storm is both beautiful and destructive, showing the desert’s duality of harshness and renewal.

Fletcher’s Desert Rain is a brief yet powerful meditation on the rare storms that bring life to the desert, reminding readers of the unpredictable, untamed beauty of the natural world.

Discover More About John Gould Fletcher

John Gould Fletcher was a Pulitzer Prize-winning poet and modernist, known for his vivid depictions of nature and experimental free verse. To learn more about his literary contributions and impact, click here to visit his full bio page.

Arizona Poetry The Song of the Sonoran Desert by Sharlot Madbirdth Hall

The Song of the Sonoran Desert by Sharlot Madbirdth Hall

“The Song of the Sonoran Desert” by Sharlot Madbirdth Hall

Sharlot Madbirdth Hall captures the essence of the desert in her work, bringing to life its beauty and mystery.

Oh, land of the cactus and yucca,
Of towering rock and of sand,
Where silence is king of the daytime,
And the stars rule the night with their band.

Oh, land of the old and the mystic,
Of legends that linger and glow,
In the hearts of the men who have loved thee,
And the spirits that wander below.

About the poet Sharlot Madbirdth Hall

Sharlot Madbridth Hall’s The Song of the Sonoran Desert is a tribute to the timeless beauty, mystery, and solitude of the Arizona desert. The poem captures the essence of the Sonoran landscape, depicting a land where cactus and yucca stand resilient against the harsh elements, where towering rock formations and endless sand create a rugged yet sacred space. Hall presents the desert as a place governed by two forces: silence in the day and stars at night, emphasizing the region’s majesty and stillness.

The second stanza introduces a sense of history and myth, referring to the mysticism and lingering legends that make the desert more than just a physical space—it is a land imbued with stories, spirits, and the memories of those who have called it home. The poem conveys reverence for the land, acknowledging both the hardships and the deep spiritual connection it fosters in those who embrace its rugged beauty.

Themes and Literary Devices

  • Personification: Hall gives the desert human-like qualities, portraying it as a realm ruled by silence and stars, reinforcing its mysterious and almost otherworldly character.
  • Imagery: The evocative descriptions of towering rock formations, cacti, and an expansive night sky immerse readers in the Sonoran landscape.
  • Myth and History: The reference to “spirits that wander below” alludes to the rich indigenous and pioneer history of Arizona, as well as the ghostly presence of past inhabitants.

Hall’s poem serves as both a love letter to the Arizona desert and an ode to its storied past, capturing its grandeur, solitude, and enduring mystique.

Sharlot Madbridth Hall was a poet, historian, and Arizona’s first female public official, deeply devoted to preserving the state’s cultural and natural heritage. Discover more about her life, legacy, and contributions to Arizona literature by clicking here to visit her full bio page.

Satellite TV Sports poem by Nick Fox blog artwork | AZpoetry.com

Satellite TV Sports by Nick Fox

“Satellite TV Sports” by Nick Fox

you’re listening to the voice of Nick
Fox the Total Sports poet in five four
three fabulous new diet I lost 500 lb
act now and you can for the one on the
Green Bay too and this is what I’m
talking about put that salad down you do
not need protein shakes or tofu diets we
have pork rinds and onion dip to take
care of your nutritional needs so just
rear back in that Parco lounger feed off
the sonic waves beaming back from your
jumbotron home theaters personal satellite
in orbit 50 miles above the Earth and give
your thumb a workout because it’s Fourth
and one on the green
May 2 down by 5 and
3 seconds on the clock
all right boys I want classic
sweep around the outside
the pulling guard slamming the linebacker
like 300 lb of Frozen processed beef as
the tail back steps over the line for
six and The Crowd Goes

Wild

and now a word from our sponsor
drink this beer and beautiful women will
have sex with you


okay we’re back just
in time for full court match and a no look
dish to a man for unconscious threes I
want somebody in the zone high up the
fray before changing the chain net with a
backward crunching Jam his blue penny
hardaways all over the defender eyepiece
before dropping back to Earth and
shouting back that on you sun

a chill 66


it’s the greatest show on frozen water
roaring across thin ice on hot blades
give me a 90 mph Slap Shot Rapier glove
save and now a word from our sponsors

if you subscribe to Sports Illustrated
today we will send you this free
football phone wow is that a phone
really that looks just like a football
is that really
Hey, Scooter get load of this deal!

okay we’re back just a time
for football the old-fashioned way with
Henderson bicycle kicks and no hands
allow give me the neverending roar of a
singing Brazilian crowd
chanting Ole Ole Ole Ole
not make the blazing feet for a

GOAL!!!

Oh that’s got to hurt, Bob

I’m the greatest of all

to they’re up in ring of
the fifth race Island Park out the box
is old sport in the lead Follow by
Taylor man DP catcher with Baltimore Joe
bringing out the rear and here they come
in the first turn

CH 57 it’s the
American Passtime on a perfect summer’s
day and a farm boy fresher the miners
strides to the plate it’s a 3-2 count in
a one-run game in the bottom of the 9th
and the base is Juiced and the whole
crowd is chanting say it with me
now

CHARGE!

and now a word from our sponsor

these Nike shoes proudly endorsed by
Michael Jordan Andre Agassi and Tiger
Woods are specially engineered by
starving overworked underpaid third world
children to make you into your walking
billboard for a multinational corporation

okay we’re back he swings on single and
drives to the Gap whole stadium raises to
its feet the C man fry the whole stadium
screaming slide Willy slide up settle in
our home plate under a column
safe
safe
and that is when you realize that this
is the American Dream in action my
friends it is 550 channels of ass
kicking fan rooting six shooting fun
this is the American Dream in action
even if the world outside can’t see but
who the hell needs a life when you got
satellite TV

Watch “Satellite TV Sports” by Nick Fox on YouTube

About the poet Nick Fox

In Satellite TV Sports, Nick Fox delivers a satirical, rapid-fire commentary on the overwhelming spectacle of televised sports and the relentless consumer culture that fuels it. Nick Fox was the founder of the Flagstaff Poetry Slam. The poem mimics the high-energy voice of a sports announcer, bombarding the reader with play-by-play action from various sports—football, basketball, hockey, soccer, horse racing, and baseball—all interwoven with exaggerated commercial breaks that promise instant gratification through consumption.

Fox’s use of repetitive advertising language and hyperbolic imagery mocks the way sports broadcasting transforms athleticism into a commercialized, almost religious experience. The poem critiques corporate influence, as seen in the cynical nod to Nike shoes being produced by underpaid laborers, and the hollow promises of beer commercials that link consumption to sexual success. Beneath the humor of this poem originally written in 2003, the poem asks a deeper question: Has the American Dream become nothing more than an endless loop of entertainment, advertising, and passive consumption?

The final lines drive the point home: “Who the hell needs a life when you got satellite TV?”—a sharp indictment of a society that prioritizes escapism over reality. The poem doesn’t just describe the sports experience; it exposes the machinery behind it, revealing how entertainment and advertising have merged into an unstoppable force that dictates culture and identity.

Fox’s signature style blends sharp wit, social commentary, and an uncanny ability to capture the absurdity of modern life. To read more about Nick Fox’s poetic career and unique voice, click here to visit his bio page.

Free Admission poem by Cylie Naylor | AZpoetry.com

Free Admission by Cylie Naylor

“Free Admission” by Cylie Naylor

the welcome sign to the gallery of my
heart reads free admission open every
day of the year and everything here has
some history and there’s plenty to see
on account of how I can fall in love so
quickly you know the average heartbeat
of a woman is about eight beats a minute
faster than a man’s which might explain
why it’s so hard to keep up with me so I
hope you’re up to the chase and I hope
you like what I’ve done with the place
take your time make yourself at home
enjoy the space you’re greeted with wine
and a waiver upon entry I’ve done
everything possible to ensure that it’s
not empty and that you won’t be bored
there are love letters scrawled on the
baseboards and the molding and the
hinges of every door it’s a bit chaotic
but you’re intrigued to see more and
please ignore the caution tape as some
rooms are still under construction but
there’s still plenty of me left for your
consumption there are some films about
Obsession and letters from past loves
held in resin the first hand that I held
in the first lips that I kissed this
room interactive at your own risk
because some before have been Reckless
cut their hands on my rough edges left
bloody finger paintings all over my
walls so I have something left to
remember them by
and this room a voicemail playing him
saying goodbye for the last time and
that room shattered glass covers the
floor for every bottle I never meant
more than
every piece of every heart that I broke
on my own accord and this room a single
framed portrait that neatly reads I’m
sorry for every time I messily couldn’t
and this place has a room decorated by
every love I’ve ever met I adorned them
with every memory and story they’ve
given me and on your way out I’ll hand
each of you an apology for anything
frightful that you might have seen But
honestly the one thing this place could
use is a little better security because
you are here every day
first in line to stake your claim as if
you couldn’t see that the biggest room
they gave me is already titled with your
name you are my largest most tragic
display for everyone to see The
Menagerie of the mess you’ve made of me
and when passersby say that you could
just spend days in this Gallery I think
about how there are 60000
miles of blood vessels within you
enough to go around the world twice
which is about how long that I would
travel to hear my heartbeat against
yours for one more night plenty of time
spent wandering trying to find you at
the right place or the right time and I
am the desperate Starstruck Basquiat to
your Warhol and I’ll walk endless Halls
haunted by crooked portraits of our
could have bins and every time I let
myself look around for too long you
become my muse all over again
I begged them not to let you in but you
never listen or you’re forced your way
through them but you’ll still find me
here and my ear is in a box on your
doorstep eager to listen for eternity if
you’ll just come home to me and I’ve
been busy scrubbing this place of your
memory but anyway
I’ll make some calls about that security
thank you for coming please take this
survey rating how much you all felt
loved by me.

Transcribed from the video “Free Admission” by Ghost Poetry Show and Cylie Naylor.

Watch Cylie Naylor perform “Free Admission” at Ghost Poetry Show on YouTube

About the poet Cylie Naylor

In Free Admission, Cylie Naylor masterfully constructs an extended metaphor of the heart as a museum—an open gallery where love, heartbreak, and memories are on full display. The poem invites the reader into an intimate, emotional space, detailing the artifacts of past relationships, the remnants of love lost, and the scars left behind by reckless visitors. The speaker’s vulnerability is woven into every exhibit, from love letters etched into door frames to shattered glass symbolizing broken promises. The museum is chaotic, unfinished, yet mesmerizing—reflecting the speaker’s emotional history and the lingering presence of a past love who still looms as the gallery’s most tragic display.

Naylor’s use of striking imagery and juxtaposition creates a powerful emotional impact. The speaker is both curator and captive, struggling to move on while still hoping for a return. The final lines—where the speaker acknowledges their futile attempts to erase the past while joking about improving security—underscore the poem’s aching vulnerability and quiet resignation.

With its blend of personal reflection, raw emotion, and artistic metaphor, Free Admission speaks to the universal experience of love, loss, and the struggle to reclaim one’s heart.

To learn more about Cylie Naylor and her poetic journey, visit her bio page here.

Bob Dylan's Love and Theft poem by Dom Flemons | AZpoetry.com

Bob Dylan’s Love and Theft by Dom Flemons

“Bob Dylan’s ‘Love and Theft’ by Dom Flemons

well you’ve heard a lot of stories
I’m going to tell you one

love and theft

it was the 10th of September 2001
and I went to bed knowing
that I would wake up the next day and
consume the album which I had waited
four years to buy
love and theft
the newest Bob Dylan album which I had pretty
high expectations for because I really
enjoyed the Grammy Award winning album
which had preceded it but as you all
might have guessed my delusion of sleep
was ruptured by something I’m going to
get into because the world has already
looked it over satired it analyzed it
digested it and it came out as a commercial

all I can think of when I see these scenes is love and theft
I love life
I love people
I love children
I love America
even with all of its faults


it’s like a friend that you’ve known all of your life who has a drug problem
because you know something’s wrong
but you don’t know how to say something that’s going to make a difference


and theft
when I dropped the 20 bucks
and when I knew I was overdrawn at that bank
and I knew that charge was going to cost me
more than that CD ever did yes


and theft when I watched that body count going
theft of the lives that were taken but damn
I love listening to Bob Dylan
but you see with this album the songs are all right
but the man’s voice showed the 60 years that I until then never regarded
because he used to phrase the words so well on the old AM
but now the words just go together and they go into a continuous phase
and they don’t seem to make that much sense anyway
but damn who knew someone was going to take a plane
and they would but I’m not going to get into that
because all I can think of is love and theft

now I hear people say I hate America
I hate George Bush
I hate capitalism
and I hate
but you know what
I hate hate
but what does that make when you hate is all you do
is embrace the theft of love
the theft of Freedom
the theft of letting people learn from their own mistakes
the theft of condemning people for not feeling the same way about something that you do
just let them fuck up

I’m sorry but
unless your life is in their hands and
you’re on the scene just let them fuck up
because after more of a year of
hearing about who did this who did that
who Jihad is righteous which crusade are
we in this time goddamn I don’t know
what’s going to go on and random bombing
in Palestine 30 people were killed and
175 were injured maybe it’s with
Al-Qaeda maybe it’s was some terrorist
group that could be linked with Bin
Laden who was with Saddam Hussein maybe
I think that we were thinking about that
in the news

I don’t care cuz when I look around
and I see all these scenes and I see
this one thing that happened September
11th what happened it stopped the whole
world in its tracks all I can think of is
is how much did
love and theft truly cost?

Transcribed from the video “unknown title” by Poetry Slam Archive and Dom Flemons.

Watch Dom Flemons perform “Bob Dylan’s Love and Theft” on YouTube

About the poet Dom Flemons

Before Timothée Chalamet brought Grammy-winner Bob Dylan back into the cultural zeitgeist with the film “A Complete Unknown”, and before songwriter Dom Flemons received his own Grammy, he performed “Unknown Title” or “Bob Dylan’s Love and Theft” at the 2003 National Poetry Slam in Chicago Illinois while representing the Flagstaff Poetry Slam.

“Love and Theft” is a reflective, bittersweet meditation on the collision of personal anticipation and collective tragedy. In the poem, Flemons recounts the night before September 11th, 2001, a night filled with mundane plans, like eagerly awaiting a Bob Dylan album he had long desired, only to be abruptly confronted by the overwhelming reality of loss and change. The refrain “love and theft” captures the dual nature of human experience: the love we hold for life, people, and moments, juxtaposed with the theft of innocence, freedom, and memory wrought by unspeakable events. With a blend of humor and raw honesty, the poem critiques the commercialization of tragedy and challenges us to confront the true cost of loss.

Learn more about The American Songster, Dom Flemons, HERE.