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| T h E B e S t 3 L i N e P o E t R Y...in The World! forest blue punctutation! broadside textile abbreviations in the midst of yes.. Ollie O. Music makes them dance..
But it reminds me of you..
Still there..Somewhere in my mind !
Deb A SPIDER'S VIEW
Black shadow of night brings my dinner to me. It catches in silken threads spun in 'mid morning air and stops...then frantically buzzes until I take my first bite. HANDS
No longer soft, no longer supple Porous, work-worn, calloused, and left holding empty-holding lost. Sharon Mack has had articles appear in The Berkshire Eagle and The Women’s Times and also wrote a column for The South Advocate (1995-97). She worked as Associate Editor and Advisor for the Berkshire Community College student newspaper, The Collage, and published an article on Welfare Reform, "Slow but Sure: Welfare Reform Act Programmed to Fail" in the American Association for Women in Community Colleges Journal, a national publication. She is editor of The Berkshire Writers Room Newsletter. At the Poetry Center
a house finch on the sill here I am stuck –– so much rhymes with peep
Exterminator at the Door
His professional advice: You wanna to catch a mouse? You gotta think like a mouse.
Marsh Morning
What the… splash and ripple Was that a turtle?
Goodnight Song I.
He is a good boy a good boy is he like a dog with no fleas
Goodnight Song II.
She is a friend. She is no churl, nor from Thule
A Poet's Submission
James Brown's plea: Please, Please, Please. So, won't you consider me?
Billowing Clouds I. passing overhead a billowing cloud cream puff a gremlin's dessert
Billowing Clouds II. my camp counselor swears behind that billowing cloud a baby goblin
Billowing Clouds lll. a golden eagle pierces the billowing cloud out as fast as in
Billowing Clouds lV. a gull riding high enters a billowing cloud it never came out he will not sit still
for a photo
or her guff
Neal Whitman Pacific Grove, CA
Neal Whitman is a featured poet of the journal Getting Something Read (www.shortpoem.org) who publishes one of his haiku per season. He was delighted to find this site as a place to be more free-wheeling with the 3-line form, inspired by today's billowing clouds.
Steel drums catchy sounds echo a trance
Tall coconut palms bend and sway
A pretty girl came here to dance
Vacation Summers skipped rocks near coal mountain run
Winters sleigh down those hills having fun
A balloon moon shone lambent light on walks Seashell Down the shore escapes city heat
walking wet sand cools searchers feet
Seashell hunting is how they met
mj sullivan Big car Big screen Big gut. Dick Crenson Stand in the wind and feel the full force of my love, Soon the golden rays will break through the clouds of trust, enjoy the breeze before all becomes still again.
Nathalie Kenworthy, a psychology student interested in people and art. We’re all looking for something we never find and settle instead for love. Sometimes I am Alice and the flowers pressed in the vogue magazines are gossiping about the way I look.
When the teacher asked this lithe and curious girl What she wanted to be when she grew up, Her reply; A Swan. Anthony Mason Windows V
Celestial music and holy words Seep through windows and doors Calling us to silent prayer.
Windows VIII
Between us the transparency of glass We see each other as we are But we can never touch.
Windows X
From his window at Giverny Monet could see the lilies in his pond The universe and all of time. Neil Ellman Death Mama left this world and made too much Emptiness in the house, in the universe In my heart Despair The globe is moving away From under my feet So bad it is
Wisdom It is definitely not about the number of wrinkles. Crucial is the quality of Grey cells in my brain.
Farida Samekhanova lives in Canada Handy Chap Erudite amend his bungles Without a number two pencil his nature corrects our own Golf ball As life slices side to side Shelved down carpeted hall in cardboard box I hide Pluto Faithful traveler stalwart guard
Cold alone running hard Scientist once threw a bone M J Sullivan Long Nights The rusted bathroom faucet drip, drip, Drip, drips. But I don't mind. Your hips won't let me sleep anyway. 5:30 AM Even the sun is pissed it's up. But wide awake, Batman slippers catapult you onto my bed. How do I explain a hangover to a 4 year old? ExhaustionLiving like I'm dying Is killing me. I really just want to take a nap. Jason Stajduhar owns the day.
Of Something One I'll give to you in the beginning. Two I'll share with us in the passing. Three I'll take for me in the ending. Brigitte Lowther photographer/writer/artist/astrologer Los Angeles, CA In heavy summer rain, an old woman standing at a bus stop has no fare. Puddles freeze at driveway's end, holds shadows, sun's last light. An ebullience of bids songs amid flowering fruit trees; a scent of blossoms after. Alan Catlin is a regular contributor to Brevities and Lilliput Review. untitled
There's another world out there and I need it so much.
This paperclip holding my soul together is old, rusted.
And I'm not allowed in Staples anymore. Michael Romeo/ In the city of lost souls I make my stand. Down the steps Bob built Runs the gray fox (but it's red!). How lucky I looked. Eat the orange fresh. Left to stew, the clinging pith Makes sweetness bitter. Cherry blossoms die-- White, pink, lovely, so soon gone. Now there will be fruit. C. Foster has published nonfiction in SEVENTEEN, short stories elsewhere (pseudonyms vary).
"I remove worth
I admit force
I give power to my dreams so I can believe in something else"
"I'm a misogynistic sideshow rodeo.
Not a token anything.
Something about sharing; why didn't we come up with this sooner?"
"A date called 'alright' and this poem is in the key of G.
Prego, it's in there.
Wow, I rejoice."
Colleen Surprise Jones -
Artist of all kinds. Painter. Sometimes damned in general. Loves freedom.
Left in the Cold
Towering beneath, in my two lone shoes,
off of my feet, and in my own tomb,
breathless, concious, but out of the loop.
Chris Galasti
Late summer
For just a moment, you falter
Anna smiles, the moment passes
Jason Crane is the host of The Jazz Session, an online jazz interview show.
Arthur Dove's "Fog Horns"
So much to love in Arthur Dove.
Can you hear the fog horn, dear?
Blaring red, over the sea, blooming like a peony.
My Sleeping Child
What dreams dance behind your eyelids?
You mumble and thrash in your covers.
I curl against you like a fiddlehead, calming you, and I fall asleep.
Pumpkin Flower
The yellow flower generously, seductively beckons,
Lures a bee inside, who drunkenly partakes.
In the fall, leaves shrivel into dust, and round orange pumpkins emerge.
Dana Pilson: I write about everything and anything, art, childhood, nature, and beyond.
I Wonder
I wonder
if it will ever be
we, instead of you and me.
Pittsfield native Judith Fairweather is a single mom, history
teacher and assistant editor of The Advocate, a Berkshire County arts and entertainment weekly newspaper.
Measuring the distance between us I describe the circumference of my longing - A full pale moon, a shattered path over the hurried waves.
Counting the stars Over the crinkled sea; Pebbles on the shore. The Cats They come out the shadows Shadow bodies, thin presences Lights behind their eyes staring, impersonal, hungry. Stephen Gee, who now lives in Cyprus, studied English literature at Wadham College, Oxford University, and has published poems in UK and Cyprus literary journals. Heart Behind the Face
I looked for the heart behind the face
The bright eyes behind the mask
The true heart, filled with compassion and grace
You Lived I promise you a love that will never hide All your problems, I shall listen, you confide When you look back, remember you lived, not lied By Julia Sprague: A student interested in music and poetry. on a boat at sea fruit emerging from blossoms canal filled with life
I am using the 3 line poem structure to write notes to myself as I am working on a piece to be shown at Boston's MFA in the Traveling Scholars Exhibition in 2010. My Traveling scholarship allowed me to travel to Thingeviller, Iceland for underwater video and photo. I dove in the Mid-Atlantic Ridge between both the Eurasian and North American continents in pure fresh water, 33 degrees Fahrenheit.
Poetry Bird
Every day chickadee laughs cries song.
Few words. Do these belong
“To you, to you?”
Codependent Poem
What makes me so special I shouldn’t up and die?
We are anchors for each other.
I for you. You for I.
Classified Ad
Swap or Trade:
Gems for roots.
Wings for boots.
Sarah Goodman Author of Ferry Ride (07) and Fandex: Bugs (09), traveling childhood via "the Hub" of Boston Mass, settled on Peaks Island, ME then moved again back to Hub.
... if I knew the shape of the sky Andreas Georgallides was born in Nicosia and he is currently a PhD candidate in Philosophy at the University of Sussex. quiet mind and matter
calm mind and matter
free and alone I want to stay
saturday
cool warm morning
heat to come
After several years in design, advertising and photography and an occasional poem Briggs has channeled his creative energy to poetry a medium that he is more serious about at this point in time. Poverty The dad would come in with a chicken and an avocado, would share the chicken with all the kids but the avocado he kept; "There's not enough," he'd say. Juan If you pass through his door, he will cook for you, hold up the sheep head from the pot saying, "Here we are headed, or rather, here we are". Agus He is the best of them, the hardest worker, an artist of colored pencil sketches, honest. Why, then, can no one stand him? Gt. Barrington native, Nina Marks teaches English at Mildred Elley in Pittsfield, MA. She has travelled widely in Mexico and the US and was active in the in the late 80's and 90's Chicago Perfornamce Poetry scene. Wild summer weed child
Tunneling toward life light
Through crack in sidewalk
_____________________
Winters slippery tongue
Integrity descending
Avalanch cascades
Betty Jean Ramsay
I've Been left;
Feared and Followed.
I've been left; Empty and Hollowed.
____________________________________
The Universe embodied in a blanket of love
Inhale its essence and drift beyond
To lavender skies in the arms of being.
__________
Another day
The memory recedes, Evidence remains...
Now as a ghost-it has whittled away.
Jillian Bernstein, Girl, 23, a work in progress.
our numbers defy the certainty of the message clear to see.
why must we die perpetuating prophecy?
when did we become like the foam of the sea?
It was no tragedy, no twist of fate,
Unforgiving and it came too late.
It was your doing and all our loss, I give back your albatross.
Forget Him not sweet children,
As He guides you on your way.
You little girls will be virtuous women one day.
Mona Abdala is a poet, visual artist and a mother of two who lives and works in NJ.
tree lesson #33
even an ironwood tree
knows to bend
in the wind
Jean Linville, Ph.D. I am an eco-artist/arts educator whose work is focused on trees.
Teenager
He skuffed in worn Nikes, his head bowed.
He suffered from acne
And a paucity of dreams.
Charlie Cameron: Grouchy old man
How is it that
I am
everything
_________
Art is life
life is light
light is consciousness
____________________
Being, what is thy nature?
Of all things, yet no thing
Thou art That
Carol Wahler, poet, singer, voice teacher
There was a dignity in his manner
despite the tell-tale signs of the down-trodden.
The contrast was unbearable.
__________________________
We buried it deep in the ground.
It is better this way, he said.
I am still waiting for mercy.
___________________________ Pine forest under a fleet of stars.
Night bird sings
in anticipation of forgiveness.
Lisa Hiserodt writes poetry during her commute to reality.
birth
wrapped carelessly in fragile tissue
blood red ribbons a mix of apron strings
progeny gift us in tiny boxes hard to open
___________________________________
life
a long walk to nowhere in particular
for an unsuspecting audience
killing white space in virgin rooms
_____
death
unraveling chained chests of secrets
entering the other side in black pool of night..
you touch my passing and I your future
Maeve McN lives part time in the sacred world of writers and artists.
Inside Slider
big wet tropical
rain kiss - sea/sky/land
menage a trois all night long
Neighborhood Concert
hawk’s legato cry
pizzicati of sparrows
Birdland symphony
Urban Weekend
dump dump-a-dah-dah
dump dump dump - condo jungle drums
praise Saturday
Diane Gage keeps practicing. Some day she’ll get it, right? Painted sun, moon ray
OLD time keeper of the day
NOT art as THEY say
Author Kate DeVries produces videos about the astronomical
calendars of the Kawaiisu Tribe.
give me words
of one syllable -- i want it straight up, neat
let there be no wisteria, no bougainvillea, no gondoliers
just a cold moon on a bleak sea
_________
night fires
After nightfall girls arise,
leap from fences onto the backs of mares.
Hooves throw sparks.
Erie Vitiello is Executive Director of the Davis Art Center in Davis, California.
HARLEY RIDER
I bought a motorcycle helmet so that you could love me.
You, in return, let me hurt you
so that you've finally learned to cry at sad movies.
A native Michigander, Anne Champion is currently seeking
stimulation from the world through reading and writing while doing
graduate work at Emerson College in Boston, Massachusetts.
Change the Hand
I want to be the one to change the hand, I’ll keep it close if you hold me breathless
So here we are left exposed with something contagious in the air
Waiting as it all unfolds, apart but not alone
Distance
Against the rain he pedals on, in the darkness through the din
Soon enough it won’t be long, in my bed I dream of him
Far away he pedals on and in a week he’ll turn around, just to do it all again
______
Trapped
Melancholy gets trapped
Between doctored memories and uncertain hopes
A sentient’s loss is the present
Cara Tuttle freelance artist and fashion designer living in Boston, MA.
Symbiont I
sleeping deity fair and rampaging
I am here
symbiotic with your dream
_________ Symbiont II
sweet deity asleep
bump do we awake thump
do I dare disturb the universe
______________ love's symphony
my poem is set to music
as I scream
his name into the wind
E.Smith Sleigh, a college instructor in art history, revels in a secondary career as an author of fiction and free verse.
Puppets
posters media hanging on the streets:
daily dirty stupid television.
a flower sees you cry.
_____ Share
They shout with me, then stare on me:
why hours are so weaky blame?
Fancy supermarkets are attaining to hell---
_____________
Automaton pilot
Bullets, wings, music, my tractable cat,
flushy copper, some sweet ruin, sun, candy flosses:
all your beautiful stuffs in my pocket before run.
Marina Aizen is an argentinian visual artist and illustrator. She always likes to play with words and with images.
FORGIVENESS
Take her in, love her.
Bring everything inside.
It is that simple.
Jo Going
A New Season After months
of snowdrift silence,
a marsh concert.
Christopher Nye is a retired college professor and dean. He now works for Orion magazine and the Orion Society in western Massachusetts. On Giraffes and Drafts
Do giraffes feel drafts?
with necks that long
undoubtedly I Would Rather Be Disemboweled Than Disenchanted
I would rather be disemboweled than disenchanted
those disinclined to clean would rather be dirty than doughty
it’s better to be a malefactor than a non-factor
Quatrain Squished into Three Lines
Did we kiss last night
First time almost perfect
Didn’t miss lips right next time better perfect
Duff Plunkett is a poet who believes in the sanctity of language and ideas, but not very firmly. Portland, Maine
28 Days
28 Days ain't enough
Being ebony is rough
40 acres was a bluff
______ October
The lady in red both crawls and soars
With an eagle eye to earth and scorpion belly to the floor
And that's just when she's bored
____ Move
When all you can think about involves being awake--get up!
Anyone who has had a thought that urged them to move knows that when they didn't
The thought did.
Sondria M. Bailey Jamaica Plain, MA.
GROUNDING
Latin, Hebrew and Abenaki roots in question
Alone never means the same thing as one
not in any language.
______________ KITCHEN TABLE
"What is a four letter word for worship?"
"The dog is chewing my sock again"
How many letters do I need to have enough?
_________________ AUDITORY SPHERE
Beged Kefat letters like alphabet soup
swimming around with Warhol's favorite colors
words, even mispronounced ones, fill space and then leave.
Cj Stephens is an interdisciplinary artist living in NH.
Her practice involves making stuff that integrates sound, image, language, and objects. Now I know never to trust
moon wishes that fall
like cold stars.
Laurie Byro lives in New Jersey where she facilitates a poetry circle. 'inside my head' the voices are fighting, one, two, three, one.
they hurt my ears and make my throat dry.
i gasp, stumble, push them out and breathe again.
______ 'mixer' drink. spin. spin. cry. over and again.
it's past time to stop and past time.
again. spin. skinned knee and blackened eye.
_______ 'my love' it's a light. i know it's a light. it shines in my eye
and makes me smile and makes me smile as i feel weightless
it comes from outside me and i feel warm
Jessica Burko is an artist who works with images, words, paper, and thread. http://www.jessicaburko.com/ ________ PROMISES
Fleeting Cold Autumn Skies
Raining Trees Under My Feet
Broken and Shattered
____ LIES
Giant Green Marshes
Swallow Myths
And Sing Lullabies To The Sky
______ ROSES
Savoring Sweetness of Thorn's Prick
After Blood Velvet Petals
Cloak Love's Deceit
By Michele Law Slater, unpublished Poet/ Artist /Art Teacher
______________ Passing on Death
Passing a semi
on a frenzy of freeway
death is a steering slip away.
________ Zider Zee
The Zider Zee, you see
steeped in Holland bulbs
speaks dutch in soul-less glee.
__________ NO FUTURE No2morrow is on a N.Y. license plate. The future less drive cars. Victoria Passier is a Pittsfield, Massachusetts woman, wife, mother, grandmother, retired teacher and community volunteer, who has survived doing all of the aforementioned and is still able to write poetry.
OOPS
Translucent winds attack my shirt, and give a frightening glance
Onlookers' eyes so quickly hurt.
I wish that I'd worn pants.
Created by Corey Brenner, 21 year old creative writing major, at Northland College in the terminally frigid town of Ashland, Wisconsin. Hoping to be heading to a much warmer campus for graduate school next year.
The Kampongs Are Gone
I thought we were collecting rose petals
All the while you plucked dragons' scales
From the loamy soil of a lost life
_____________ Dried Apricots
Hair from the barber's chair and candied ears cut from dead heads
How could I sing of love dance til dawn turn myself on
And never know that scalps on the belt equal dead pioneers
_____________ Old Larch Trees
They speak quietly of some kind of illicit behavior
A crime repeated with the hushed tones
Of old crones knitting in the back row of the courtroom
Victor Valmore a retired businessman and Vietnam veteran who has been writing all of his life. Pursuit
Found on a computer Search:
Happiness does not exist
Do you wish to create it?
______ Encore
Tender Earth is blue and greenly beautiful and this is Eden
Paradise, the only planet we may go to
ce n’est pas perdu – encore. Patricia Goodwin has written a poetry book called Atlantis that compares the United States to the lost continent of Atlantis.(www.patriciagoodwin.com). She was born a poet not far from the oil tank fields in Revere, Massachusetts where, from her childhood window, she could see the glorious sunset behind the Mystic River Bridge. I love you, he said
le majeste of words
in the realm of love
P.Sullivan is a lover of language living in the Boston area for life. It definitely is not and so
neither should it be -- and yet,
when you push the On button...
_________________
Children imitating sirens
don't entirely drown out
actual sirens.
__________
Lydia, unkill
yourself. We require
more difficulty, here, in our stupid lives.
Unlike the majority of American writers, Philip Welsh currently resides in Brooklyn, NY.
She wielded a sword sharpened by tears and injustice
until the day it plunged itself into her heart
and she appeared before her children soaked in blood.
__________________________ The kitchen goddess appears
in a corporate suit
suckling wolves at her breast.
________________________ Seek refuge in a human heart
protected by a savage mind
and lavished by a wayward soul.
Lisa B. Greene writes poetry in Jamaica Plain, MA.
a gaggle of faux blonds all dressed the same
chat and brag about the, "daddy I want it" game
not even spoiled, just boring, wasted and lame
________________ eating the peanuts
I brought to give away
cemetery squirrels are too wild to beg
_________________ The rains are coming
I wait hoping to heard your voice
distant thunder
Sarah Leon is a fine artist in Watertown, MA. Paintings are her work and writing is her pleasure. Her paintings can be seen at http://www.artofsarahleon.com/
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