Intro Dear friends, Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic's Kaddish. You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here's the 'tldr' version: Part I The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants respond… Continue reading W3 Prompt #25: Wea’ve Written Weekly
Intro Dear friends, Welcome to our W3 Poetry Prompt, which goes live on Wednesdays at The Skeptic's Kaddish. You may click here for a fuller explanation of W3; but here's the 'tldr' version: Part I The main ingredient of W3 is a weekly poem written by a Poet of the Week (PoW), which participants respond… Continue reading W3 Prompt #24: Wea’ve Written Weekly
Poetry Partners #58 'Deep Scars', a Pantoum by Reena Saxena of 'Reena Saxena' the yellow liquid boiling inside me it's made of many repressed blues red rage that despised me boils inside the pungent brew it's made of many repressed blues blood stains and a purple scar boils inside the pungent brew a remnant of… Continue reading Deep scars, or: From deep within
A "Shadow Sonnet" Rhyme should not be used for the sake of rhyme; Verse should flow smoothly, of deep, inner verse; Climb the soul's mountain, towards crisp night clime; Perse shadow skies... spirit-alpinist's purse. Dive back to earth, have some beers at a dive; Relate your feelings to some who relate; Live conversations leave men… Continue reading Shadow, or: Oneself
Poetry Partners #23 'The Art of Seduction', a poem by C L Barton of 'Linnets Sing in the Trees' Desire adventures in Turkey and Greece, a thief's attracted by what's kept out of reach. Stay with something forbidden reading poetry and kissing become permissible. Hear the call of appearance, the Devil in this dark was… Continue reading Seduction, or: Blank canvas
An Italian sonnet With eight legs, I compose my lines faster Than you primates can manage with your hands! Known as goliath bird-eater to fans, You may call me Mighty Spider Master. Mice and lizards know me as disaster When down in burrow lined with my silk strands. Fool humans fear my large poisonous fangs...… Continue reading Snacks, or: Spiders
Creased browned unbound fraying pages swaddled In dusty ragged strips of cloth behind Her desk that daily, hourly, brought to mind Khakied legs at which a child once toddled Shaky hands and wise, weak eyes, which coddled Him; but this - was he intended to find Her manuscript - scribbled on worn sheets lined With… Continue reading Son, or: Sonnet
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