VARB
a house with a cap for a roof looks appealing
because winter is no good for VARB
there are soups and pots but mostly orange
my job was to fill them all up
the dream was about something valuable
something i’ve opted to call VARB
unclear of what VARB contains
I think of VARB as not just a thought
but that which holds the thought
loving is a VARB that we know well
I drink it boldly and without reprieve
like soup the VARB will come to me
and fill my holes with happiness
in my dream the branches rise above
what I can and can not see
there is a new type of VARB
and people tasked with wearing it
it lays across their face
and tweaks when the moment calls
they learn to turn it on and off
until they become inseparable
always there are things to show
some different way to mark the page
coagulating until new mass forms
I saw not individual VARBs
but only their collective one
decidedly more heroic than mouths
they resembled a longgone moon
my mother came to help me once
she said “why, this morning is some word...
some word I knew at an earlier time”
so I tried to help her find that word
it couldn’t come and wouldn’t come
we held up one so woeful shape
from the journal WORKS & DAYS
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This poem was born from a concern for language acquisition, knowledge production, and the domestic sphere. I find that I am continually drawn to the disjunctions and abnormalities in children’s speech, and, more largely, to the language of folk tales and fables. This poem is no exception.

Yagmur Akyurek on "VARB"
"Meet the 2025 Griffin Poetry Prize Finalists"

On tackling writer's block, Aaron Coleman writes, "Over time I realized that reading work and looking at art that piques my curiosity is usually what unlocks my own writing. And there are so many different genres and types of books that I rely on in different situations: when I need to find my way back to the music of language it’s rhythm-driven poems and translations from other languages (often Spanish and French in my case) that helps me hear anew all the possible sounds systems in language."

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Color image of the cover of Kristin Dykstra's book, Dissonanace
What Sparks Poetry:
Kristin Dykstra on Other Arts 


"Dissonance dwells around a dirt road. Dirt roads appear stable, but with time you perceive that they exist in flux. Dissonance became a book of time. Time turns various and nervy–a click marking a photographic moment, a slow burn of interior pain. Photographs interrupt time, invite you into its astonishment. They propose other dimensions, reminding us that even our thoughts enter the past as they travel through the mind." 
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