of a son
Poetry Partners #35 'I am a poem', a poem by paeansunplugged of 'paeansunpluggedblog' I am a poem, read me syllable by syllable let the vowels roll around your tongue at will immerse yourself in the free flow of rhythm undulating whimsically in its own rhyme the meter; sometimes measured. But oft not! Read me at… Continue reading I am a poet, or: A poem
Poetry Partners #30 'Dive', a poem by Martha Anewa of 'a young writer's mind' Time to dive into the words you spoke to me, The day you told me you loved me and I thought it was a lie, How little of love I knew back then, Now I'm drowning in the fountain of love.… Continue reading Dive, or: Drown
Poetry Partners #29 A poem by Yasmin of 'yaskhan' She was him He was her They were one They were free She had eyes that knew His heart’s glow A smile that filled the space When spring made its way to their eyes In the zephyr’s abracadabra All the places they were at a loss… Continue reading She was him, or: He was her
Poetry Partners #27 'Skin in the Game' by Audrey Duff of 'Stopping Schadenfreude' It's the horses' sweaty skin that Derby owners claim. Warren Buffet’s first deal, not much skin in that game. Pigs weren’t so lucky in games, Their bladders stretched and stuffed, tossed and bound, for four quarters and a hundred yards. That’s what… Continue reading Skin, or: Bones
Poetry Partners #26 'my kitchen is a graveyard' by Jo of 'people in poetry' this poem has no metaphors. everyday, in the garden of my stove top, scalding and burned, i resurrect the last few memories i still have of places i have lived. and in the absence of the life carried in the hum… Continue reading Stove top, or: Sink
Blank verse in iambic pentameter My sky is dark with black stars; together, congealing into thick syrup, even as I spread my arms; distributed as sick party favors, mementos of... need; perhaps, perhaps, preferable to my own; their deafening silence clotting my ears, coursing through twisted creases, pooling in my eyes, heavy, streaming down my… Continue reading Clap on, or: Clap off
Blank verse in iambic pentameter Laziness; can't blame it on craziness - that's much too sexy, and I've yet to cut even one ear off. This constant stare-off with my own reflection on poetry websites; impressions in fast succession, forming ideas, framing works, foraging for scraps of ambrosia and digging down for diggities. Oh ~… Continue reading Wax on, or: Wax off
Blank verse in iambic pentameter My favorites are the free birds that - well, you know... You know? Whereas I'm all like, 'How do I stick a whatsit into the round binkadink, wrapped in floojipples? Maybe a shibboing would do it?' I'm amazed that some of those splendid creatures don't get much attention, or sometimes… Continue reading Heaven’s droppings, or: First impressions
The skeptic's kaddish 
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