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


I cracked it into ghostsleep in a corridor
a broken hour

I had to slap up morning

a lame johnny that I
am I just disappearing
into the sweet grey

rain and rain and

anything the heart
touches rib roar
jostling a wing

dream on inbetween

catching up with
the joke in the day
results leaders questions

what I cannot get

a grip or it stops
beating an old drum
dancing dissonance

its art as fatalist

Jill Jones 12.37pm 3 December 2003


unsettling as it may be

clouds and their kind--

the flecks of moon


it may or may not


a harsh wind

or not--

the way I live through it

West Irondequoit, New York, 12:37 AM 12/03/03
Jerry Schwartz


christmas tree


a penchant for war
forewarned is
four armed

gone into the dark

a pen chants for peace
for warned is
for ward
ing off

look toward the light

Douglas Barbour
Edmonton 07:40 December 5/03


Lorry rain
fine and dusty
Sunrise grey
and the road a pale black
that does not return
but continues into smoke
and the absence of light.

Liz Kirby
Stoke-on-Trent UK



... the murderous couple, victims of an all consuming amour fou
that drives their passions to extremes.--comment on The Postman Always Rings Twice with Lana Turner and John Garfield.

Big deal. This is what love is:
"Combats amoureux is amour fou"

Read: fluidic carnage,
kimchi for sure,
nutritious and rank.
How many hotel rooms
have needed fumigation
or been outright condemned?

The stuff of Medieval theory,
that passionate love is a disease,
it sweeps through families,
destroys them,
is unavoidable
like a plague or death
or even love.

KTW, 12/3/03, Princeton, NJ


the finished book:

maybe you have a tendency to
keenly feel the cold, the loss
of voice
in seasons that follow
the gathering of the fallen
feathers of poems, of white-dry stories
hard work pressed
between the skins
the sheets of revered trees

the stain of ink and scar
the well-meaning lives
of industrious poets
suddenly out
in the cold
and wondering if they will ever

stretched out on the couch
Grafton Ave, Newark, NJ
7:06 pm



You could come
everything is so wholesome--

or not. I don't want
much. No thank you.
And buried

Happy? Never carry money.
One thirty. I must get dressed and go
live in a place like this.
I must go
do some of the things I
always wanted to do.
You do it.

Barry Alpert / Silver Spring MD USA / 11-29, 12-1, 12-3 (11:54 PM)

A good-hearted American paparazzi in Rome lets Audrey Hepburn (in her first
starring role) escape with her reputation unscathed. Subtle filmic
treatment of paparazzi shoots & stills. Seven years later, Fellini's
attitude toward Roman paparazzi in La Dolce Vita is much different. Every
word in my text exited the mouth of Audrey Hepburn, perhaps first written
by the scenarist Dalton Trumbo.


There are shades you can only touch
Years ago I walked
Eyelessly through a black mountain

The sky shimmered like a knife
Poised to cut my breast in two
I remember the men in white

How they loomed over their instruments
And doors which opened and closed
I wondered if darkness was soft

Or if it felt like a collision
I wondered if I would wake up
Locked inside my death

With hands as formless as gravel
Unable to say my name
The last thing I remember

Is the colour of kindness
My heart floating warm and strange
Through the chilling veils of my flesh

When someone took my hand and held it
And led me like a child
Into the dark

Alison Croggon, Williamstown, 4.04 pm Thursday


that one?--cruel
as hangnails, or these dry browning curls
of pine-needles on the walkway--
do I love your wavy

in winter we are smoking
to look around the grind
of a backhoe always climbing
for more mud

a backbone a man-made mountain a noon

hello to rebuild
after some (ever-accidental) fire
wipes out a power plant:
it happened to me, you say, here.

I know
under the anorexic sun, a pool of basic lettering

sunlit twig crisp warm as cheek skin: our words
& a little well
of breast
warming for everyone: women know

how he drives wild
his own irony: true, women smoke over him
more, so many more cigarettes
compose him in memory

& even he finds women
so sidewalk-lucky after him

now that infernal backhoe toddles
over another round mound it wants
to be a train chugging up
a wonder of women--

are you reactionary?--

as if whatever rude glue
he spent is not already full
of a crush some pink melon the labial curious

chris murray 04 Dec 03 12:55 a.m. Dallas, Texas U.S.



if time has colour it is
the musky colour
of this insignificant day
where everything threatens
to turn brown
if time has sound it is
the sound of this empty house
on this musky day
where everything threatens
to turn brown
recalling the fitting odour
a tap discreetly leaking
cringing at the sound
of each drop as it shatters
in the kitchen sink
the near silent moan
of a floorboard
imagining it's turning
turning in its sleep
casting a furtive glance
at the other floorboards
sleeping soundly alongside it
on the floor silently wishing
it could join their common floorboard dreams
not realizing it was woken
by the tired complaint of the rafters
that no one's noticed
since the house was built
if time has a face it is
the face in the faded faded mirror
on this musky day where
everything threatens
to turn brown

Árni Ibsen
11:15 pm dec 3 2003
stekkjarkinn 19


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.

The first two runs, of six weeks each, and the first ten weeks of the third run, are archived at Wild Honey Press under Poetryetc Project. The rest - amounting in all to a run of a year - are archived here.

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