Some of the lines the algorithm generates are quite catchy, others not so much. Still, it helps with writer's block. I mean I feel like...

I have more insight now as to why I've had such severe writer's block. I haven't been happy! Not just generally, but specifically about...

in stars and poems and atoms and states of matter - States of Matter by Anna Leahy For any liquid, there are two ways to arrive:...

i do not want to write not at all, not even a little. in fact, i feel quite over it, thanks. seriously so done. do not want this. ...

No, I f——g didn't. But I did see this: which reminded me of this: A Poem about Pain I can feel myself slipping away, fading away,...

February By Jack Collom It is all kind of lovely that I know what I attend here now the maturity of snow has settled around forming a...

Than softly falling snow Fussing over every flake And making sure It won't wake someone. by Charles Simic

By Jennifer Michael Hecht Don’t kill yourself. Don’t kill yourself. Don’t. Eat a donut, be a blown nut. That is, if you’re going to kill...

I 'think' Auto-Lullaby suits this week (and last) perfectly. Think of anything other than the news when possible. Think of   a sheep...

sunshine drapes porous form on the steps of the abandoned church where rosemary bush, piles of dead leaves caught in the corner between...

by Danez Smith, from Don’t Call Us Dead let ruin end here let him find honey where there was once a slaughter let him enter the lion’s...

Pietà by Kevin Young I hunted heaven for him. No dice. Too uppity, it was. Not enough music, or dark dirt. I begged the earth empty of...

A Center By Ha Jin You must hold your quiet center, where you do what only you can do. If others call you a maniac or a fool, just let...

They did the deed of darkness In their own mid-light. He plucked a gray field mouse Suddenly in the wind. The small dead fly alive   ...

Courtesy of The New Yorker Sometimes I arrive with my buds closed, and I am mistaken for scallions, but if you cut a half inch from my...

by Tracy K. Smith I watch him bob across the intersection, Squat legs bowed in sweatpants. ​ I watch him smile at nobody, at our traffic...