Books
  • Furious Lullaby (Crab Orchard Series in Poetry)
    Furious Lullaby (Crab Orchard Series in Poetry)
  • Names Above Houses (Crab Orchard Series in Poetry)
    Names Above Houses (Crab Orchard Series in Poetry)
  • A Face to Meet the Faces: An Anthology of Contemporary Persona Poetry
    A Face to Meet the Faces: An Anthology of Contemporary Persona Poetry

  • Requiem for the Orchard (Akron Series in Poetry)
    Requiem for the Orchard (Akron Series in Poetry)

Anthologies

Oliver's work can also be found in the following anthologies.

  • Tilting the Continent: Southeast Asian American Writing
    Tilting the Continent: Southeast Asian American Writing
  • Asian American Poetry: The Next Generation
    Asian American Poetry: The Next Generation
  • Language for a New Century: Contemporary Poetry from the Middle East, Asia, and Beyond
    Language for a New Century: Contemporary Poetry from the Middle East, Asia, and Beyond
  • From the Fishouse: An Anthology of Poems that Sing, Rhyme, Resound, Syncopate, Alliterate, and Just Plain Sound Great
    From the Fishouse: An Anthology of Poems that Sing, Rhyme, Resound, Syncopate, Alliterate, and Just Plain Sound Great
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Entries in NAPOWRIMO (9)

NaPoWriMo April 11th

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NaPoWriMo April 10th

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NaPoWriMo April 9th

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NaPoWriMo April 5th

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NaPoWriMo April 4

Charging bayonet

 

                        Plate 359Eadward Muybridge

 

 

The man with the gun must be thinking, out there

is the center of his purpose. The grains of the gun's wood

 

snug against the hip-bone. Left arm cradling the long barrel

so that the tip with the affixed blade tilts upward. Heart-level.

 

Purpose breathes its long kiss into his ear. A breathless kiss

held so that the man's stomach cinches into a concave sack.

 

Love falls where the wind carries his body—in short

asthmatic huffs as the man's legs move him forward, left

 

right, left. All the while, the butt of the rifle presses against

his flesh. Spring air let into the studio pulls the dark velvet

 

curtains from their rods as the coffee cools. Just as casually

a knife, raised up against the black backdrop says "look."

 

The man's shadow shakes in the new light as his bayonet

halves the air, fits itself into the fissures of an imagined breastbone.

 

Purpose as close to the edge of the picture frame as an arm. Purpose

to fill the wound, half bloodied and hot. The urge of the rifle

 

slaps against his thigh.  Purpose as far as a country

where no memory can drive itself as deep as the hilt.

 

NaPoWriMo April 3

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NaPoWriMo April 2nd

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NaPoWriMo April 1st

I usually don't participate in the April National Poetry Month version, but decidied I'd give it a try this year.

Here goes. As with all my writings that appear on the web, they'll live here for a day and disappear within 24 hours:

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