Whoever heard of a photograph
staring back at you
making you uncomfortable?
I mean, what’s that all about?
Making you nervous,
like you needed to stand up
and perform some official duty?
Damn photograph just found me
in my burrow
deep in December.
Alan Britt, MD, USA
Sunday 30 December 2007
Sunday 23 December 2007
Child by Christian Ward
The curiosity of a child
new to the world is musical.
Notes are composed
with images from a world
we keep in our back pockets:
shadows on a suburban
lamppost, clouds casting off
their uniforms over shorn
fields. These are tossed
like unwanted Polaroids,
ready for the daily sacrifice
of dust and dark. To prepare
ourselves for becoming human
we must unlock each song,
connect it to our cities of flesh
and bone. And be still, be still.
Christian Ward, London, UK
new to the world is musical.
Notes are composed
with images from a world
we keep in our back pockets:
shadows on a suburban
lamppost, clouds casting off
their uniforms over shorn
fields. These are tossed
like unwanted Polaroids,
ready for the daily sacrifice
of dust and dark. To prepare
ourselves for becoming human
we must unlock each song,
connect it to our cities of flesh
and bone. And be still, be still.
Christian Ward, London, UK
Thursday 20 December 2007
Yang Chung's Poem 72 by Duane Locke
Tea leaves, a lacquer-black, crossed
On cups
...........Orange coolie hat bottom
Spoke
The words that clothe
............................The sounds
Of wood pigeons
.........................By the woodpiles
Whose
..........Irregular round edges, the ends,
Are lit
By
Evening fireflies and a reflection
From
A rooster's red comb.
The sun and her blonde hair
Are both wet.
Duane Locke, Florida, USA
On cups
...........Orange coolie hat bottom
Spoke
The words that clothe
............................The sounds
Of wood pigeons
.........................By the woodpiles
Whose
..........Irregular round edges, the ends,
Are lit
By
Evening fireflies and a reflection
From
A rooster's red comb.
The sun and her blonde hair
Are both wet.
Duane Locke, Florida, USA
Friday 14 December 2007
Caricature Of An Early Planter by Michael Lee Johnson
(Edmonton, Alberta Canada)
He is a gardener
with a spyglass.
With an ice pick
cavities are chopped
out of the earths torpid
mouth, dry seeds are packed
in with frostbitten fingertips.
He rakes his yard clear
of all snow in winter
so green blades of grass
will pop through frozen
earth.
He will weed, thin his garden early.
He is a realist; he writes poetry also.
Michael Lee Johnson, Chicago, USA
He is a gardener
with a spyglass.
With an ice pick
cavities are chopped
out of the earths torpid
mouth, dry seeds are packed
in with frostbitten fingertips.
He rakes his yard clear
of all snow in winter
so green blades of grass
will pop through frozen
earth.
He will weed, thin his garden early.
He is a realist; he writes poetry also.
Michael Lee Johnson, Chicago, USA
Wednesday 5 December 2007
Nose in the Wind by Mike McCulley
We call the dapple-gray
Snow-Ghost, we ride
her in the night
where the winter storms go.
We call the dog
Handrail.
Mike McCulley, WA, USA
Snow-Ghost, we ride
her in the night
where the winter storms go.
We call the dog
Handrail.
Mike McCulley, WA, USA
Sunday 2 December 2007
The Snow Diary by Christian Ward
Snow slipped out of the straightjacket
of my diary when Father left. Morning
came and I found tracks on its pages,
along with a fox peering at me, wondering
why I had never noticed it before, why
it had never been so cold before.
Christian Ward, London, UK
of my diary when Father left. Morning
came and I found tracks on its pages,
along with a fox peering at me, wondering
why I had never noticed it before, why
it had never been so cold before.
Christian Ward, London, UK
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