green praises the rustling avenue
pollen fine hair falls
here is the gear, push and shuffle
clear of my hill of mistakes
I will have you back in this latitude
fair ample sky and ground
despite the drag of seasons
finally the weather opens its arms
a new version of blue is blowing
summer skin into our hands
Jill Jones. 3.25pm Wednesday 10 December 2003
My Backyard 4 - Everything
When it rains
my ducks stick their beaks in the mud and search for things
slugs and bugs I guess.
They have white feathers.
Their whole bodies, apart from the orange bits, are white.
Despite this, they spend hours slurping around out there.
It seems a little strange
but they stick together.
You should see them - I could watch them forever.
There is no point to this.
They are ducks.
They stick together.
Their white and orange bits are covered in mud
and, it seems, they are happy.
It's very challenging -
you have to watch and watch
but if you keep watching
things you once thought of as important, will pass
and days of seeing nothing
but white feathers and black mud
will tell you something, at last.
Clint Greagen 12.10.03 AustraliaPostdiluvian snap
The dog still trails her mistress
everywhere round the house, concerned
her bed has been displaced.
The master ponders the fungus
sprouted on the guest-room wall.
The mistress clinches deals
for cleaning and flooring,
wondering what she can wear tomorrow.
'Remember before the flood?
Life was so quiet and easy.'
ponders the word-fancier.
- 10.30pm, 10 December 2003
Max Richards, North Balwyn, Melbourne
make my day a little holiday fill-in-the-___________-poem how do you make time time for all the times ____________________ sits in front of you like a take-no-prisoners two year-old or a________________ or a wall rising up, the tide of days before _______________ when you are supposed to make merry make those scrumptious desserts ________ always expects and then on top of that as if that were not already over the moon make space in the living room, ________'s room, the guest pull-out couch, the squeezed-in-tight place in your heart and make peace around the table, the____________ and make do when________________. just how do you make it look so easy. oh how you make me smile!
Deborah in NJ
a poem for our gathering
of family service workers
in daycare centers in Newark
Deborah L. Humphreys SC
currier and i've got a lovely view outside my back windows
the snow fell like a blessing
a covering of white
over the oil-slicked skin
of a swimming pool, the tar lagoon
the abutting neighbors have
abandoned to the elements
once-upon-a-summer ended and the plastic
bobbling toys went inside, the boom box music
the seasons turned, the sun and the shimmer of wind
across the top, kalaidescope of mold
and like the early snow now, the brown oak leaves
covered up whatever was living in the jello
my flight of lochness escapades
noirin says keep the back bedroom
when it rises
it will eat you first.
Deborah in NJ
a snap inspired by the weather snaps
is the world still with us
at all the planet turns
beneath us impersonal
but not unperturbed
by how the world's
waning law lost
in the snow or sand
exploded the idea
thrown out against
that heatdeath of
the mind mined
and blown up out
all the freedom
promised and denied
the world spins
its own narrative thread
Edmonton 08:25 Wednesday December 12 2003
after reading Halvard Johnson's G(e)nome
the straight connections become cheerfully unglued--
and I feel haunted down my DNA's spiral staircase--
rave kid's glow sticks-- those worms float by--
neon, too vibrant to gather but I pull them
down through some uplink all their dreams
someday soon I hope like acid I could drop
a gene-splicer and in a short twenty-minutes
haunt back up the spiral and then to sleep
nestled near the labia of some god
West Irondequoit, New York 112-10-03, 12:15 PM
De-dah cookin' daahound.
Lush, and yet,
Be-bop prosody implies an improvised melody--
harmonic and simultaneous.
Barry Alpert / Silver Spring, MD USA / 12-10
(after Sonny Rollins, 1959)
Rollins grows his legend,
sprawls tone across
the Brooklyn Bridge walkway,
into the black,
healing up hero
no longer heroin,
giving it back,
making love to lights
and velvet of City night.
God bless this child
he is is own
he is God's child.
In the building where he lives,
a God's child, newborn, sleeps sound
undisturbed by the weeping brass
for Sonny has gone to the Bridge.
Ken Wolman, 12/09/03-75, 12-10-03 (2:02 PM)
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 www.wildhoneypress.com under Poetryetc Project. The rest - amounting in all to a run of a year - are archived here.
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