Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Station by Maria Hummel
Days you are sick, we get dressed slow,
find our hats, and ride the train.
We pass a junkyard and the bay,
then a dark tunnel, then a dark tunnel.
You lose your hat. I find it. The train
sighs open at Burlingame,
past dark tons of scrap and water.
I carry you down the black steps.
Burlingame is the size of joy:
a race past bakeries, gold rings
in open black cases. I don’t care
who sees my crooked smile
or what erases it, past the bakery,
when you tire. We ride the blades again
beside the crooked bay. You smile.
I hold you like a hole holds light.
We wear our hats and ride the knives.
They cannot fix you. They try and try.
Tunnel! Into the dark open we go.
Days you are sick, we get dressed slow.
Source: Poetry (September 2010).
find our hats, and ride the train.
We pass a junkyard and the bay,
then a dark tunnel, then a dark tunnel.
You lose your hat. I find it. The train
sighs open at Burlingame,
past dark tons of scrap and water.
I carry you down the black steps.
Burlingame is the size of joy:
a race past bakeries, gold rings
in open black cases. I don’t care
who sees my crooked smile
or what erases it, past the bakery,
when you tire. We ride the blades again
beside the crooked bay. You smile.
I hold you like a hole holds light.
We wear our hats and ride the knives.
They cannot fix you. They try and try.
Tunnel! Into the dark open we go.
Days you are sick, we get dressed slow.
Source: Poetry (September 2010).
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Poetry Group
Nine of us sat around the cheap, folding table
covered with a stained bedspread
baring our souls and changing our lives
at the end of each line of poetry
we cautiously shared.
For eight weeks
drinking green tea
and snacking on nuts
and homemade puddings,
we took our turns
growing bolder and bolder.
Sally, the owner of the meeting house,
a mousy housewife with a runny nose,
a chubby caretaker,
a retired CEO,
a personal caretaker that loved her cat,
a large man wearing shorts fashioned from sweatpants,
his thin, nervous wife filled with the spirit of the Lord;
the grim, suspicious moderator
with no sense of humor,
and me – a middle-aged man
with an attitude and a loathing for
rules of grammar
and authority.
- James Edge
covered with a stained bedspread
baring our souls and changing our lives
at the end of each line of poetry
we cautiously shared.
For eight weeks
drinking green tea
and snacking on nuts
and homemade puddings,
we took our turns
growing bolder and bolder.
Sally, the owner of the meeting house,
a mousy housewife with a runny nose,
a chubby caretaker,
a retired CEO,
a personal caretaker that loved her cat,
a large man wearing shorts fashioned from sweatpants,
his thin, nervous wife filled with the spirit of the Lord;
the grim, suspicious moderator
with no sense of humor,
and me – a middle-aged man
with an attitude and a loathing for
rules of grammar
and authority.
- James Edge
Monday, September 6, 2010
The easiest way to write your life story | OhLife
The easiest way to write your life story | OhLife: "Write your entries by email
Every night we'll email you the question 'How did your day go?' Just reply with your entry and it's saved here instantly.
- Sent using Google Toolbar"
Every night we'll email you the question 'How did your day go?' Just reply with your entry and it's saved here instantly.
- Sent using Google Toolbar"
Saturday, September 4, 2010
the League of Canadian Poets
the League of Canadian Poets: "Build Your Own Poetry Chapbook With A Free Template And User Guide!
- Sent using Google Toolbar"
- Sent using Google Toolbar"
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