"I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..."

POETRYrepairs v08.05:052

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JANE HUTTO Crossroads The ways of sorrow Had not touched them yet, Though pain's sharp fingers Always hovered near, like spies Await the time to make a move. Formalities were dropped and words were shed From lips long silent in their reticence. Come closer, dear, Let me repeat the words, For we may never pass this way again. --- copyright JANE HUTTO REPAIR: Concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; resort, frequent or habitual going; making one's way; to arrive; to dwell; to heal, to cure, to recover; to renew; (AND!) to fix to original condition. Oxford English Dictionary

"Poetry endangers the established order in the soul."

poetryREpairs v08.05:052

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LYN LIFSHIN's ALL ABOUT ME series Hearing Something About 'the BOSTON PHOENIX on Air' There I was, one of those April poetry readings timed for The Boston Marathon, maybe the time I met a dark haired Irish man I was sure I'd see more of. Buds hardly lightening. I must have had a little wine, skin un-slashed by three cars converging. My first Abyssinian cat in my mother's friend's car. They were waiting for me, ready to drive into the night while I flashed my hips and signed books. a month later, The Phoenix reviewed the reading, "The waif- like girl, the slightly heavy woman in black coaxing me to come with her. "Plump" they called her as she wouldn't be much longer --- copyright LYN LIFSHIN. ALL ABOUT ME series poetryREpairs.com welcomes your essay on a topic related to poetry.

"Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!"

poetryrePAIRs v07.03:052

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ABIGAIL B. CALKIN Washington Square Cleaning drawers of children long gone from home I found a solitary winter walk snow still falling white in Washington Square Double wrought iron curved in croquet wickets form art nouveau tulips. In summer they outline grass from walks. Now they match the black leafless trees. In the distance I see the children's area benches for the nannies silent sandboxes and tricycle trails Tears form and I turn away, see the Plaza fountain in watered color umbrellas scurrying. I hear the waltzes of Miss Bloss's Dancing Classes at the Plaza Hotel pleasant memories of boys and girls who know nothing of life learning ballroom dancing Boys in suits and ties partner girls in party dresses and white gloves. Miles alone in a taxi, the doorman in deep green makes me feel a matron of forty in silk and gold. Fairyland respite from Washington Square --- copyright ABIGAIL B. CALKIN. "Washington Square" was previously published on poetryREpairs 02.01:007 'all the fine arts are species of poetry'

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poetryrepairs v08.05:052
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