Saturday, October 27, 2012

Early Mornings (Haiku)





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Get up, put on shoes,
Run, walk, run, walk, three circles,
Back at front year path.
.
Pushups, eye on stars,
Dozens of them, twinkling above,
It's 6:45am.
.
Remote control, socks,
Garage open, and shut, waters,
Breakfast after shower.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Nothing More? By Carol Stillings HuFF



Between birth and death-a time-
A mountain of hardships to climb,
Always struggling to open doors...
No place for me?
Nothing more?
.
An endless battle to live
is that all life has to give?
How many times I've asked before
No place for me?
Nothing more?

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Video Cuisine By Maxine Kumin (REvised Version, from 1997)




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Thursday Short Story Slam Week 29: Dramas and Freedom


  
 Babies are weighed on color television again,
Tiny bags of bones are hooked to canvas slings
to be identified, which ones will receive dried-milk mush,
the concentrate made out of ground-up trash fish.
#
For years we've known them, back-lit by the desert,
These miles of dusty hands holding out goat skins or cups,
Their animals dead or dying of pest,
and after the credits come up I continue to sit.
#
Through dinner with Julia, where, in a Golden fish
poacher big enough for a small black baby, an
Alaska salmon simmers in a court bouillon, the palate
For a first course, steak tar-tare to awaken.
#
With it Julia suggests a zinfandel. This scene
has a polite, a touristy flavor to it,
And I let it play. But somewhere ox fam goes on
spooning gluey gruel between the parched lips.
#
of potbellied children, the ones who perhaps cab be saved
from Kwashiorkor- an ancient Ghanaian word-
Though with probable lowered IQs, the voice over explains
caused by protein deficiencies linked to the drought.
#
and the drought has grown worse with the gradual increase
in herds
overgrazing the thin forage grasses of the Sahel.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Summer Waves (1977)



 


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Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 74 (October 4 -October 10)

 



Tonight,
The moon swims under the agate veins of clouds,
And it has no satellite,
The yacht-jammed harbor sits unattended,
Pictorial as if posed artfully on the cover
of the Magazine Fortune, including Italian, skiff,
Things turn stormy without warning,
The chestnut tree boughs swing by bolts of flashing,
While the wooden chair murmurs in creaking rhythm,
It's impossible to get on the boat
with disturbance wind from all directions,
and no mood for logical interrogation,
I think of my boys, at home,
or away from home,
I let time lend its wings to sort out things.

jingle yanqiu

thursday poets rally bill cook, lovely annie, riika infinity, jingle yanqiu all voting positively jingle poetry larry page, someone is ...