where the writers are

Poetry

  • Celebrity

    November 20, 2009

    •  Marilyn Monroe rules the world, at least The part visible in a photograph, standing Above the troops she’s about to bless With a song in her porous sequin dress, her arms Durably outstretched. She hasn’t aged a day In fifty years. The men too appear impossibly Young, mooning boys clotted around a woman Who just might show them something they’ve never seen. Picture the millions ...
  • Peace in Three Parts: Two Children's and My Peace Poems

    November 20, 2009

    • Peace in Three Parts   Part I:  A Third grader Personifies Peace Peace is a child, small, invisible, yet powerless over Anger and Ruthlessness, who seem to control war, the very enemy of Peace. But Peace would not go to war with Anger nor Ruthlessness, for she is Peace, after all. She would not go to war. Even though, of course, Peace is very busy, with lots of war going on. Alex Trux, ...
  • Poetry and Inner Peace

    November 19, 2009

    •  It will soon be 2010. For many of us poets, the dawning of a new year ushers in a time of introspection and self evaluation. A time of atonement and soul searching, a season of personal reflection and reckoning which purifies the spirit and prepares us to face the challenges of our daily struggle to live with courage and conviction. The reading and writing of poetry is highly conducive ...
  • Full steam ahead and the breakfast sonnet

    November 19, 2009

    • My review on Thomas Keneally's The People's Train (he also wroteSchindler's Ark) is now up at Vulpes Libris. A challenging journey indeed ...In other writing news, I'm pleased to say that the lovely people on my online writing course seemed to have enjoyed my attempt at the sonnet form, though I fear it carries a hint of desperation in its innards. Here it is:The Struggling SonneteerAll ...
  • not my equality 5.26.2009 ca ruling

    November 17, 2009

    • todayour civil rightsare ruledby the coffersof organized religiontodayour rightto lovewhom we choosecommit towhom we choosemarrywhom we chooseis dictated bya creedo of hatredtodaywe are invisibleour families negatedghost-likewe move through our daysjust like youbut notyou are the visiblethe entitledonly the green, emptiedfrom our pocketson demand treatedthe sametodaywe, in thisthe golden ...
  • in between

    November 17, 2009

    •   in betweenthis is the time of in between a holding pattern circlingthe wait  between dawnand completion…          there are days to settle    quarter hours to walk in early darknesslight to grow accustomed to hidden currents to watch for anticipationas we wait for evening’s rogue wavesoutside this window…there is another frame of timeto be reckoned ...
  • Poetry on the Web

    November 17, 2009

    • Sticks and stone   http://home.earthlink.net/~lospoesy/conn3.htmlToo near the falls   http://www.niagarapoetry.ca/conn.htmSwans   http://www.2river.org/2RView/1_1/poems/conn2.htmlCabin fever   http://amusedmuse.tripod.com/holidays/winter/cabinfever.htmlIn a minute I'll tell you   http://www.2river.org/2RView/1_1/poems/conn1.htmlHere and now  ...
  • Fashionable, sporty or chilled?

    November 17, 2009

    • Amidst a rather better day at work today (and at least no-one was bitchy to me, well hurrah, captain, and put out the ruddy bunting, eh ...), I have been trying to arrange my annual eye appointment. Since last year it's all gone more modern and now the Godalming optician circles appear to be bookable via the internet. Naturally, given the chance to avoid speaking to anyone at all, I will choose ...
  • Tutu, Paris Review

    November 15, 2009

    •      “Time To Set Boundaries” is today’s lesson from the dog trainer.  I erect barriers that make the Berlin Wall seem like a friendly neighborhood decoration.  The printed class sheet states that the boundaries should be non-confrontational.  I greatly respect the dog trainer, an experienced professional and an intelligent woman, but she has yet to encounter the full cataclysmic ...
  • or a necklace of stars

    November 15, 2009

    • A Large Stable of Horses I can't stop writing without my arm on fire and then milk. I must be a reincarnation of St. Sophia, or was that blood and milk. Her teeth sharp, black, each morning she hands me my peppermint latte at Dunkin Donuts. In another life, she was Kali and I, the daughter she killed for singing or weeping. You send me a postcard of Paris, although you've ...