A new resolve: attempt to get a poem published.

This means: no more poems that might get published can be posted here.  I do like sharing what I am working on, but my Narcissism is too big for this journal.

I might change my mind, depending on how much effort it takes to send poems off...

I'm not a huge fan of yesterday's output.  I also seem to be the only one doing the ten poems in ten days right now, everyone else reached ten and disappeared. So, I'm not getting or giving any comments.  I've written seven poems though, and I won't quit!

Identity
a Pleiades

In seeing in stars only
indications of hope or joy we
ignore their ( Read more... )

Trying to Live I Find Myself Dying

I cast myself into the river
again and again
fishing for answers

Soon I will be picked clean
and only my bones will dangle
on the piercing hook of my soul.

5-27-07

A week and a half 'til Norway.  I'm nervous.  Summer with all its laziness is rejuvanating.  I fear losing what I'm beginning to regain of myself.  I am always astounded by how much energy I use at school.  Even when I'm relaxed at school I expend energy.  But that is good.  It is just so nice to not put out for a little while.

Yesterday I was lazy ( Read more... )

(this is my first shot at a sonnenizio, a form I've long admired)

Jochebed’s Lesson to Mothers
Sonnenizio on a Line by Rilke, from “Sonnet 6”

When you go to bed, don’t leave bread or milk
in sight of Egyptian spies, embedded everywhere looking
for signs of excess, Jochebed warned Aaron,
So, when Moses was born, Aaron was easily obedient
( Read more... )

I wanted to write a poem with dense words.  This is related to my desire to develop a larger vocabulary.  Following is the result.  I don't know if it is comprehensible:

Dreams of Love

The idea of love is entangled with lust and the two
are embedded with imaginative depictions of delectation,
of afferent neurons erupting into fireworks, of skin ( Read more... )

I was afraid for a while that I had lost the ability write poetry.  I made a few stabs at it.  Got a new notebook out of the family office supplies cabinet, picked up a pen, thought of a few phrases, jotted them down.  But, nothing more than crappy confessional journal-entries-in-poem form came out.  But then, at last, lieing in bed a couple of ( Read more... )

I would have flowers on my doorstep every morning ( Read more... )

I made it to thirty!!!

Poetry

is the summer night that lazes
through my window to cool
my sunburnt face.

is four different scents of roses
given to me by the gardner
with the white beard.

is the moment when acquantaince
turns to friendship
the moment when, asked to toast,
I want to say:

I love you, I love you, I love you!

But ( Read more... )

This was originally titled "Dear Anarchist"  and I was going to go...someplace with it...But then I got diverted, and it became what you see here.  I didn't mean for the last verse to go in that direction... oh well

On the Cyclamen

It might interest you
to know the flowers
on my kitchen table
are resupinate.

Nearly everyone has a theory
( Read more... )