All copyright © 2003 remains with the authors.
All copyright © 2004 remains with the authors.


sheet half off
our bodies slanted
in early morning light

the air remains warm
er than it should

i get up &
eventually sit
before the screen

snapping at its
gray reflection
of the day beyond
the window

a gray cave
lit among
the dark thick
green leaves

Douglas Barbour
Edmonton, Canada. 08:30



clear sky silent
streak of white
vapour caught
by sun silver cylinder
of people cylinder of
desires cylinder
of destinations

Árni Ibsen
Hafnarfjördur, Iceland, 10:45 a.m.


caught in the middle
of a small chorus line
facing the conjoined wall
to wall mirrors in
the rehearsal room
reflecting those
on either side of me
while the 'I' has
disappeared between
the warped edges
cramped between two
separate convexes

Árni Ibsen
Hafnarfjördur, Iceland, 12.15pm



So we read it: Uday and Qusay are dead,
Iraq's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
minus the recorders or Hamlet's lame jokes.

You can doctor a photograph.
Identity theft is big business
or a diversion depending on your mood.

They've got the dental records?
To hell with that--maybe they have Uday's dick too,
the way urban legend says the FBI has John Dillinger's.

If that's so, the Army should put it in the Museum,
plant photos in the Baghdad Enquirer:
"Here it is, proof that the biggest prick in Iraq is gone!"

Uday and Qusay belong in the Freak Show
of the Unspeakable next to two opera characters,
Radames and Ramfis Trujillo.

Anyone can fix anything: how do we know who is dead?
Perhaps the dead Hussein Brothers are Photoshop fakes.
Perhaps for that matter Joe Stalin is still alive.

Who would have been his body double?
Maybe that's why they shot Beria right after:
dressed him up like his boss.

Maybe they got Mandelstam's body
out of 15 years in cold storage
to be laid out in Joe's uniform and medals.

Politicians, after all, have strange senses of humor
and anything is possible in Washington, London,
or Moscow when you are utterly amoral.

Kenneth Wolman
USA, 2.44pm



Coming from Washington.
Like you?
A year since I've seen you!
Understand what happened / what made you
everything I can.
Ten in your office.
Thanks again--a thousand times
everybody's sympathy--thanks to the newspapers.

love, loyalty,
bags later.
. . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . .

Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD USA, 1:03 - 3:01 PM.


I want to come back as a cat.

'I wrote poetry for psychological reasons
To minimise my contacts with psychiatrists,
Not for love of language'

I want to come back as a cat.
A pity about the operation
But it would be the best of times,
Not like this.
I want to come back as a cat.

Douglas Clark
Bath, UK 8.45pm.


It goes like dark green-black violent tides sucked by inexhaustible
sleepless full Moons / Mars in Pisces / from peak to crevice / lack of
skeletal frame to volcanic eruption / by any level of emotional context to
any concrete step in or out / Wednesday-Mercoledi - Mercury-Hermes / sees or
doesn't want to see / compromise is needed wisdom moulds plastic forces / it
goes way back / to the first settlers - HG draws it to Protestantism / I
preferred to depict instability within an innate human thirst of power / to
dig further into the self

and the souls need to be healed / thus poetry in its magnifying

anny ballardini
- bozen, 10.38 am., 7/30/03


The internal stream presents itself. What matters is at what point to
intervene. I'm reading on the john. A fly buzzes around me, and I think
to swat it with the paper, and then imagine a pink smear of fly jam on the
page, absently rubbing it with my finger and just as absently
tasting. And the thought, through attachment to a memory that serves for
matrix, transforms to

"absent the mind,
Renfrew eats flies."

Can one eat one's fly
and have it?

Mark Weiss
USA, 2.42pm


"Streets of houses": two facing terraces,
two rows of cars, a strip of one-way traffic.

Impossible to get from my front door
to the main road, without meeting someone.

Bhavesh stands in his doorway. Baumica
scowls and smiles. Shrey pedals up and down.

Oliver greets adults with a beeping noise
because he is a bus.

Dominic Fox
Leicester UK 23:07


Winter Jingle

The night closes in - temporarily.
Morning comes.

The nights close in - temporarily.
Spring comes.

My Night closes in.

Max Richards
North Balwyn, Melbourne, Australia, 8.30pm


a sunfish
like a buck white-tail deer--
iridescent flanks
intermingled cream
honey electric blue
sprinkled with black
a dime-sized navy spot
on each gill cover
...and tiny facial features
small puckered lips--
Winston Churchill!

Gerald Scwartz
West Irondequoit, USA 2:30 pm


B o n s a i

Olmstead's Front Park Buffalo, NY
[on design and loss]

I like my trees to look as natural as possible.

Often nature's most stunning and beautiful effects
are reduced and molded a child breaks a stick

From mud comes sculpted mud leaning into the wind
growing in confined spaces on the edge of a basketball court

mid july passes for may undisturbed, a nickel bag nestled in a condom
There are no thoughts drawing under a shade tree regarding a woman

Commodore Perry in command over his blacktop
his trash bags, drugs, and tires never wavering

[ intention / attention ]

There is no right way to measure beauty

Geoffrey Gatza


Wish I had some weed. If I had some weed Wednesday would be better.
Understand today aint exactly bad but weed would make it better. Though
did jam some blues on bamboo flute with Otis Rush, some weed would
make the
music making better. Have I said "better" yet? Howâbout "weed"? Got
Good Humboldt bud, not that scruff from Mexico full of seeds. I mean
I-don't-wanna-be-this-high-weed. Know what I mean, Billy Jean?
bloom out of nowhere over mountains, horizontal lightning cracks the sky.

Frank Parker, USA, 9.9pm


My Mother's Last Romance

Now she wants me to do
what my Dad did -
rehearse her symptoms for
Dr Singh ('They're always Singh or Patel'),
discuss what to pack
for her impending visit.

Strange how things turn
out - my sister gone,
me nearly divorced,
she now turning,
turning to me,
the vague boy, always

Norton Hodges
Oakham, Rutland UK. 9.43


In the midnight court
of our coitus interruptus
I shot forth a volley
that almost clipped the valley
side of our bucolic
By morning, the sun dribbled
down our throats
as we ate cockroaches,
and quibbled
over bee larvae and crickets.

Anton Brassiere


snapshot day
sitting here
looks at ceiling
looks at floor
looks at keyboard
Her cat walks in
flaunts triumphs in
caught a mouse
shows mouse
very dead mouse
sleek soft fur
cat waits
for approbation
clever cat
good boy
cat walks out
to show Her
thoughts of
Her cat
wrestling in
a coypu
flit across
my mind

8am cool raynes park


Poetryetc is a listserv relating to poetry and poetics which provides a forum for poets to debate their critical and creative work. The list has over the years run a number of projects for its members, of which Snapshots has been the most enduring.

Every Wednesday, Poetryetc members were invited to post short poems on any subject or in any form they chose. The idea was to make a poetic collage of instamatic “snaps” of that day that reflected the international membership of the list. The project has generated an astounding number of poems.

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