Friday, September 15, 2006

The first day of pre-school by Hannah Gerber

I don't think I've ever been as happy as I am today, right now.

A few hours ago I was kind of

psychotically ecstatic, thats worn off, thank goodness

but this is a really spectacular day

and I'm so grateful for everyone involved in it.

The decent hearted drivers,

the teacher's with their welcoming grins,

the gal at the thrift store register,

whoever made this cranberry juice.

The smell of the brisket cooking,

whoever invented the crock-pot,

the chilled wine waiting,

the people who created Sesame Street,

and of course you, for giving me this day

and all my days, my mother.

It's my mom whom I thank

with every breath today

for helping me see

the beauty in absolutely everything,

for even though she thinks

she doesn't even like poetry,

what she doesn't seem to know

is that she is poetry

and that makes her even prettier

and my day even more perfect

as it draws to its rather satisfying end.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Wonderful new work from Nikki, click image to see larger.

By Nancy Lerman

Most days he’s there in the coffee shop
Most days he smiles hello
And I smile back.
One day he introduced himself
And held my hand just a bit longer
Than necessary.
The next day I looked away
But not without wondering,
Just for a moment . . . .
The next day I walked past
Without looking at him
But I held my stomach in.
The wild woman I was
Would have slept with him by now.
I felt the wildness bubbling up –
And so, the next day,
I gathered up my children
And using them as shields
I walked past
Flashing the talisman of my ring
Willing him to let me be
For the sake of the ring
And the children.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Poem by Carmen Tracy

When the falling leaves
sound like water
in the wind
and you can feel
the hollow sounds
of ocean waves

change is coming

Fear Not by Carmen Tracey

Out of the Nothing
the dark

Comes form
and definition

Without the invisable
the unseen

We would not smell
or see

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

The bag I carry by Hannah Gerber

The bag I carry

No metaphor here,

I’m actually talking about the bag I carry;

far heavier than it needs to be,

terribly large, making my shoulders throb.

The bag I carry all over town

has the word ‘poetry’ on it,

and an image of a Pegasus,

and you must know

how much I like that.

Plenty of dimes and nickels

but no real cash,

a bottle of water for me

and a sippy cup for you,

three notebooks, gum wrappers,

hand sanitizers, crayons,

happy meal toys,

lip balms, sunglasses

and bags upon bags

stuffed full of cheddar goldfish

and vanilla wafers.

I also carry all that empty space

heavy with cumbersome wishes,

the absence of objects

we could pick up on beaches,

the heady possibility of mountains.

These things,

like invisible elephants

in the universe of my tote,

like play-dough cut-outs

of things we cannot yet touch.