Not directed at anyone alive or dead

poem The poem is a cell, is a place outside of time- contained without echo, deathless, no memory outside of the time existing within the words This is always happening, this will always happen. Consider that Consider this: I hate you, you filthy bitch.

The Hug - Tess Gallagher

The Hug A woman is reading a poem on the street and another woman stops to listen. We stop too, with our arms around each other. The poem is being read and listened out here in the open. Behind us no one is entering our leaving the houses. Suddenly a hug comes over me and I'm giving it to you, like a variable star shooting light off to make itself comfortable, then subsiding. I finish but ...

A painting in verse: "Why A Mural?" (Maningning Miclat)

Her poetry have always set me aside in awe, and her paintings mesmerising me entirely... not to mention the mysteries that surround her life. So here I present one of her poems:--of course, obtained from the Maningning Miclat Art Foundation website launched in her honour: Why A Mural ? I want space - a two dimensional space. To form form and forms that change , while my arm sways, my hand ...

You feel, you think, your fingers and hands grip and touch like independent animals. You take the pressures in your head and you turn them into color, you stretch them into words. Is it good? You want very badly for it to be good. Are the feelings real? Do others like the delicate ribbons of morphemes, the way they twist and knot? Can they also feel the sway? Hope to God your little poem is ...

You feel, you think, your fingers and hands grip and touch like independent animals. You take the pressures in your head and you turn them into color, you stretch them into words. Is it good? You want very badly for it to be good. Are the feelings real? Do others like the delicate ribbons of morphemes, the way they twist and knot? Can they also feel the sway? Hope to God your little poem is ...

You feel, you think, your fingers and hands grip and touch like independent animals. You take the pressures in your head and you turn them into color, you stretch them into words. Is it good? You want very badly for it to be good. Are the feelings real? Do others like the delicate ribbons of morphemes, the way they twist and knot? Can they also feel the sway? Hope to God your little poem is ...

Me? Never! and Novocain [1-2/100]

Hey! I'm just starting out with the challenge. I don't normally write a lot of poetry, but I sometimes do like to. I hope you enjoy. Novocain contains some references to drug use, so I hid it under a link to my writing journal. Me? Never! was written awhile ago. XD Novocain : ( Piercing skin.... ) Me? Never! I never write about myself, To be honest. The thoughts, feelings, Hopes, ...

“Why I Am Not a Painter” by Frank O'Hara

I am not a painter, I am a poet. Why? I think I would rather be a painter, but I am not. Well, for instance, Mike Goldberg is starting a painting. I drop in. “Sit down and have a drink” he says. I drink; we drink. I look up. “You have sardines in it.” “Yes, it needed something there.” “Oh.” I go and the days go by and I drop in again. The painting is going on, and I go, and the days go by. I ...

to write a perfect poem

to write a perfect poem is impossible i’ve been sitting here soaking up all the inspiration that a cup of coffee can give me typing a line and than just seconds later deleting it because it is not the perfect beginning and without a  perfect beginning the poem will not be perfect but why would anyone want a perfect poem? the way I see it it is the minute flaws the syntax errors in a clause...

Frank O'Hara_Why I'm Not a Painter plus Two More

           Frank O'Hara_1926to 1966                'Sardines' Michael Goldberg Why I Am Not A Painter I am not a painter, I am a poet. Why? I think I would rather be a painter, but I am not. Well, for instance, Mike Goldberg is starting a painting. I drop in. "Sit down and have a drink" he says. I drink; we drink. I look up. "You have SARDINES in it." "Yes, it needed something...