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[3 Mar 2010 | No Comment | ] by Guest Poet

by Patricia McCaron

Hey, Listen to this.
The poetry of story.
A poet tells a story about stories.
Poetry, gossip and the pursuit of
Pleasure.
Is there any other way?
Now what do you think of me?
You’ve got to stop and be there
for the poem as long as it takes.
Just stand still.
Wherever you are is called here,
and the song goes on.
The time will come when you can
feast on your life.
We sit by the fire…

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Poetry and Prose »

[1 Dec 2009 | One Comment | ] by Guest Poet

by Peg Alford Pursell

Even the stars collect in families.
No body is alone in space.
Astral pearls of light -
strings of sisters – glow,
Father the brilliant medallion
marks the mouth of a black hole,
A hydrogen web Mother spins
and weaves her nebulous net,
the Old red ancestors fade
but never defect:
Gravity.
We don’t have the same
laws or attraction,
other more subtle forces
constrain us
in these painful arrangements.
We scatter. Maintain
our distances,
pray to transcend…

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Poetry and Prose »

[1 Dec 2009 | No Comment | ] by Guest Poet

by Lucy Simpson

“I am perception and knowledge, uttering a Voice by means of thought. I am the real Voice. I cry out in everyone, and they recognize it (the voice), since a seed dwells in them.”
─ Nag Hammadi Library, Trimorphic Protennoia, translated by John D. Turner

Back in the garden of eden
when leaves were holy
every vein a beatitude

everything was possible
for these monkeys
for these little Hanumans

The light sang beneath the boughs
little fish shadows darting
and god walked in…

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Poetry and Prose »

[30 Nov 2009 | No Comment | ] by Guest Poet

“Moon” by Miles Ranno

Lying on damp grass

Orion writes on my heart

Tears sparkle like stars

___________________________________________

Sharon Walling has published a number of editorials and is a member of Christian Writers Guild.

//

More Articles by Guest Poet

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Poetry and Prose »

[28 Aug 2009 | One Comment | ] by Guest Poet

White winged wonder navigating the celestial cosmos
gathering stardust from dwarfed red stars,
and descending to sprinkle the powers
of inspiration on earth’s artistic population.
A bit of yellow on Van Gogh
before his easel in a hayfield,
green on Hemingway in his emerald hills of Africa,
gold on Isadora Duncan’s toes,
a rainbow mixture on a playwright on Stratford on Avon,
and behind the Great Wall in the courtyard
of Li Po, particles of orange,
then a shade of love’s blue sky
on a poetry dancing…

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Poetry and Prose »

[1 Apr 2009 | One Comment | ] by Guest Poet

by Colin James

The smallest of inadequacies
left a taste of salt
and splattered its tangibles
unexpectedly.

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Poetry and Prose »

[1 Apr 2009 | No Comment | ] by Guest Poet

(for Michael)

by Lucy Simpson

If I knew you were light
I would’ve peeled away the layers
to your glorious mouth
many years ago

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Poetry and Prose »

[1 Feb 2009 | No Comment | ] by Michelle Shannon

I wait for cold, rain drenched week-nights when everyone is inside warming up to each other after work and the streets become as hollow and sad as a drained can of Coca-Cola. I like to wander down to 59W and 44th, to stand, hip cocked in the middle of the intersection, flipping a dripping pink Gerbera daisy lazily at my side. I often simply stand and stare pensively up towards 6th. I like to experience types of love in extreme conditions because my mind has a funny way of making my body feel insulated from the world when…

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[1 Feb 2009 | One Comment | ] by Guest Poet

Finding Poems

by Bryan F. Warsaw

__________________________________________

Jessie,
On your mother’s couch, huddled over
a laptop
filled with hoarded treasures.
“From where do poems come,” you read…
We sat, smiling, musing, each of us- almost strangers-

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Poetry and Prose »

[1 Jan 2009 | No Comment | ] by Guest Poet

Premonition of Billie Joe and the River

(based on the song, Ode to Billie Joe by Bobbie Gentry)

I am dreaming of my Billie
He dives down
A dove to the water below
To follow where the child did go
Little rag doll limp thing
Head an onion bulb left in the sun

The river swallows his
White skin, his gold hair, his crooked teeth
The Tallahatchie is an easy woman
Made up of tears

Sundays we love after church
On…

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