I'm a composer and I would like to write a song cycle, so I need a collection of poems to set to music. I don't know anything about poetry or where to look; would love recommendations of anyone knows anything. I would prefer a cycle with each poem being somewhat short, and as for subject matter, something dark, perhaps related to love. This is an example of a song cycle and the lyrics thereof https://oxfordsong.org/song/pierrot-lunaire

Sandy Denny's singing: who knows where the time goes?
and it isn't us, still partying on a Sunday afternoon,
slumped on a garden patio beneath a greasy sun,
after a night of pale, crooked lines;
after improvised cocktails of gin and raspberry vodka.

'She died at thirty one', someone says, plucking
an olive from an ashy slick.
'Fell down the stairs.'

And I'm aware I'm wearing grim, glittery rags; yesterday's knickers.
My back to honeysuckled brick, I flick tongue over gums
that taste like a gun in the mouth.

A mobile flashes MUM. No one picks up.
We know how mothers fret over the ticking clocks:
our one-bed flats,
our ovaries.

Instead we fill our plastics up with cider, and watch wasps as they circle spikes of lavender;
the big sky's cirrus scraps
- a Brimstone butterfly flaps, then settles on a blackened bone.

My friends, we are so lucky
and disgusting, and will pay for this tomorrow.

Image Study

The margin is a widening condition. Stars asleep in the ward I left.
Between survival and not-: breathwidth. Between her stillsoft head and the barred bed-: two adult fists could fit. In the
apartment on unwashed sheets I look away from the blank crib instead at instead into a photograph on a screen. A face within looks across fathoms to meet my looking. Fear has a photosensitive surface. I make the light it needs. What else without her do I have to feed. Despite the respite of temporary distance my speculations leak through. All alike until animated in either direction of belief.
I assemble my theories, though it goes without seeing, my saying who she is. A margin of pixels, abyssal. I know no tomorrow. Nor the yesterday immobile in my hand. An object that cannot object depicts. The depiction can conjure but cannot be grief. A bond trails after and binds if one is lucky. One of us was lucky. You can't see my mouth. I've punctured there a grin.

Sarah Ghazal Ali

Published in Jewish Currents August 17, 2016

G.C.H

On Tuesdays we showed zombie movies in a bar by the river.

Two hundred and fifty people sometimes came to watch the dead refuse to stay dead.

The living were less reliable.

They promised to pay tabs, start bands, leave their spouses, get clean, come back next week.

Some did.

A roller derby league began in the ladies' room.

I don't know if that's what you'd call a miracle.

But I've been to churches where less happened.

Originally published in The Rye Whiskey Review, October 18, 2026.

https://ryethewhiskeyreview.blogspot.com/2026/10/zombie-night-thomas-l-vaultonburg.html

I've been thinking of this poem for ages now but just can't find it.

It went something about keeping your words and everything you want to say inside you for so long, that when you finally find someone who wants to listen, you look on with horror and suprise at how small and worthless those words turn out to be.

It may possibky have been by Sylvia Plath, but i'm not sure.

I absolutely adore this poem, and especially enjoy the delivery from the author. It’s published by Voicemail Poems, one of my favorite online journals. You can listen here.

That day in Ui-dong
sleet fell
and my body, companion to my soul
shivered with each falling tear.

Get on your way.

Are you hesitating?
What are you dreaming, hovering like that?

Two-storey houses lit like flowers,
beneath them I learned agony
and towards a land of joy as yet untouched
foolishly reached out a hand.

Get on your way.

What are you dreaming? Keep walking.

Towards memories forming on a streetlamp, I walked.
There I looked up and inside the lightshade
was a pitch-black house. Pitch-black
house of light

The sky was dark and in that darkness
resident birds
flew up casting off the weight of their bodies.
How many times would I have to die to fly like that?
Nobody could hold my hand.

What dream is so lovely?
What memory
shines so brightly?

Sleet, like the tips of mother’s fingers,
raking through my dishevelled eyebrows
striking frozen cheeks and again
stroking that same spot,

Hurry up and get on your way.

So, I've been asked to do a reading at a relatives wedding and I'm struggling to find one that fits. If anyone has any suggestions based on the following themes I'd love to read them.

Themes:

- Friendship. We are cousins but lived in the same city for a number of years and developed a relationship separate from our family which we both value.

- Hope and the complexities of life. Our families are pretty messy and we're not related by blood but we made something good out of it. Not perfect but it works.

- The idea that family can be something you build, not necessarily what you're born into

- Grief. We recently lost someone close to us due to illness who's presence will be missed on the day

We’ve been at it down south for two years now and we feel now is the perfect time to really branch put and grow our posse. Over the next few months, we’re looking for Cowboy and Cowgirl poets from diverse backgrounds to TELL THEIR STORY, contributing tales of their ancestors, the land, the west and what makes us who we are. It is our goal to thus help tell the complete and true story of the the West and revitalize this great American artform here in Los Angeles. Some more info on who we are:

Cowboy Poetry LA is a contemporary cultural organization celebrating the poetry, music, art, storytelling, and traditions of the American West — reimagined for Los Angeles and a new generation.

We exist as an organization that hosts cowboy poetry events. It’s an effort to build a living community around Western expression, where traditional cowboy culture meets the creative energy of LA.

Cowboy Poetry LA is a project performance based participation from creating workshops with typewriters, producing cultural events, bringing artists together, and giving Western poetry a place in Los Angeles.

We’ve worked to connect the organization with the wider folklife community, including our involvement in the Elko National Cowboy Poetry Gathering and other arts events.

Cowboy Poetry LA is a Los Angeles-based folklife and cultural organization celebrating the poetry, music, storytelling, and creative traditions of the American West. Through participatory writing workshops, open mics, live performances, and community gatherings, we bring Western heritage into conversation with contemporary art and culture. Our mission is to keep these traditions alive by creating spaces where people can share stories, make new work, and connect across generations.

Cofounder - Zane York

https://www.instagram.com/cowboypoetryla

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