ALL RESPONSES |
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St. Patrick’s Day 2010
I, _____state your name____, am guilty, of
(Check all that apply)
not always taking things seriously
wearing shorts in winter
loving animals more than some humans
loving sunlight on my face
enjoyed a drink and a smoke
acting stupidly
confusing sex with love
staying up too late
caring what everyone thinks about my poems
not caring what anyone thinks about my poems
fear
being impatient
being too optimistic
being cynical
being sarcastic
wishing I had a lot of money
not understanding God
not understanding people
making lists
overeating
worrying about how I look
criticizing others
catching fish, and eating them
wanting to dig my toes in a sandy beach
saying fuck
eating cheese
liking sweets
loving chocolate
wanting sex
not giving a damn
being obsessed
being inconsiderate
killing insects
dancing wildly
walking around naked
loving my body
hating my body
not brushing my teeth
oral sex
eating pizza
not asking
keeping secrets
eating bacon
drinking beer
getting a sun tan
bitching
laughing at other people
playing guitar
addiction
overspending
shopping
farting
belching
puking
spacing out
thinking I was somebody
thinking I was nobody
thinking nobody was anybody
not thinking
procrastinating
shooting from the hip
not wearing underwear
cheating
lying
telling the truth
being deported from a foreign country
masturbating
listening to music
driving a car
licking
being sweaty
stinking
hating winter
hating hot weather
hating rain
drinking water
swimming
grinning
screwing
spewing
sucking
passing out
wanting someone else
watching TV
not flossing
eating fast food
ignoring someone
taking vacation
working too hard
being lazy
acting oddly
thinking they were acting oddly
wondering why
being glad I’m alive
being glad you’re alive |
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| We're back!!!!!!! |
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Spring pour its amber honey on me
and the crooked door opens to
welcome me in,
magic in my fingertips,
songs on my tongue,
fire in my
veins |
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| Hello, all. |
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Dear Northography,
Without you, I have been poemless, adrift on a wide, wide sea. Thank you for coming back with your promise of assignments, inspirations, and community.
Your friend,
LouAnn |
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| I'm breaking out my rhyming dictionary in anticipation! |
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(Raise your glasses around the fire.)
Here’s to my god and to yours!
--to you, your family and friends.
--to spouses and children.
--to parents and siblings.
I spit whiskey into the fire,
for peace,
for health,
for strength.
I spit whiskey into the fire,
for new beginnings,
for good friends,
for proper respect of all.
I spit whiskey into the fire,
for sound decisions,
for restful sleep,
for being who I am.
Let’s say farewell to winter,
and welcome warm sunlight
to the children of earth.
Here’s to my god and yours! |
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I was just sitting, biting the boredom off the skin of my fingers
thinking of opening a bottle of Malbec - the full red juice of the Argentinian Bacchus,
when something clicked.
Northography had wiped away traces of many dark hours, always available when the graduate school work became as blurry as politics,
when my youngsters failed to sleep in their own bed,
when my lovely partner chose to go to sleep, instead.
As I sat here, staring at my newly-acquired book of poetry
(Woman who has Sprouted Wings), I thought of Britt
Britt who opened these doors to me, without even or ever knowing who I was,
relying on my words like a valid bonafide curriculum vitae.
I knew it was a slim chance but typed the letters anyway, one by one
and there it was:
a picture of a door, slightly open
in the middle of a blank field of snow
like an empty sheet of paper waiting for words.
There was Britt again, giving me another chance
to dust off the notebooks and write.
Thanks for coming back.
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isolation...
be no
more.
every moment
precious
real.
let no one
put to rest
the Spring
and all
that life
prevails:)
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Words have been eluding me, lately,
and by lately I mean for twenty six years,
dodging the space between my heart and fingers
like opposing magnets-
will not touch,
will not surrender,
will not let me love
or let me go.
I am as stubborn as springtime
bulbs pushing daisies up through permafrost,
wrestling words until I break them
or they break me. |
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So i was sitting on my ol blue couch, slouch
nesting my lame arm and
reading between loose stacks of
Harrison, Blake, Levine,
assorted other collections
and essays
on Cummings
waiting for my little cat's permission
to assume my computer chair
and then when finally she decamps to go for a stretch
what in the world do I find?
Northo is back?
Zounds!
And to my utter amazement I could recall
a never written down name and password!
Good to see life here again - it must be spring!
Cheers! |
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