ARMENIAN POETRY PROJECT

Shahé Mankerian, Arminé Iknadossian and Alene Terzian-Zeitournian, the Zephyr Poets, will be appearing at LITFEST PASADENA 2021, Saturday a...

BEYOND THE G-WORD: ARMENIAN AMERICAN  WRITERS IN HYBRID  THURSDAY, MARCH 28, 2019 7:00 – 8:00 PM  ANOTHER READ THROUGH BOOKS...

In Plato’s Phaedrus, Socrates says that locusts were once human. Everywhere I look there are truth seekers in their grandfather’s green army...

Undone every morning, the devil at her knees as her mother combs her hair, grabs and tames the tangles. Hundreds of wooden fingers unravel h...

I have 30 minutes before the children awake, wrinkled thumbs soaked, eyes small with sleep. I sit under one of California’s oldest oak trees...

Whether we ever knew them, whether they held our hands or burned their bras, somehow they silently grow into our poems like gypsum, each one...

Gartal  and the  Armenian Poetry Project  are proud to release this audio clip recorded live at the Bowery Poetry Club in New York City on ...

Gartal and the Armenian Poetry Project are proud to release this audio clip recorded live at the Bowery Poetry Club in New York City o...

10/6/09 9:05 PM The sun has an orgasm across the valley as Pasadena opens up in front of me, the Suicide Bridge pushing an arm out of gre...

Remember the curtains Mother? How they wrapped their arms around the sofa on windy days, how the blue-tongued ocean below our window licked ...

Mother is stirring soup. Says she smells the Mediterranean. A Monarch butterfly appears from behind the rack on her way to Mexico or San ...

I looked for you under the barstool underneath my wine glass you were mine for one half hour stolen by an oil-streaked man in an olive-...

A black comb of words to hold in your hand, a semantic romance, a roman à clef , a myth to deconstruct. This poem you want needs a bit of ir...

She would be sitting by the Mediterranean at sundown, the sky as red as Campari, knitting, or maybe sharpening her cutlery on a large stone....

I can hear the words in the whirring of the fan or the leaf blower five houses down. There’s a word: interior and then another word: fractur...

like the others she only comes here not Lourdes not Montserrat thinks she’s the Prophetess of the Olive Tree wanders deserts dressed in hote...

in the cotton-mouthed morning a red-crowned crane raises its beak, watches the grey sky, recovers from the miles left behind in the Far East...

Armine Iknadossian lives in Glendale, California and teaches high school English. She received her BA from UCLA and an MFA from Antioch Univ...