"I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..."
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CHRISTINA PACOSZ
Inside a Lava Tube, the Big Island			

a birth canal
of a giant being.
Lava cooled into shapes:
bats, turtles, fish.
Ontogenetic like a developing embryo.
Cool, quiet cave, a cathedral
closer to the molten heart -
the mystery 
inside
a prayer.
The roots of a single ohia
lead toward the dark
while branches studded with lehua blossoms
stretch to the clouds
scudding past on the trades.
a melting pot of myths:
Yggdrasil, the tree of life, 
the Kiva,
the cross.
The blue belly button 
at the beginning
before the word.

--- copyright CHRISTINA PACOSZ

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

Barry University

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"Poetry endangers the established order in the soul."
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not dead yet

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WILLIAM MEIKLE
Writing Tips - A Mantra For All Writers

Dinner party or just about anywhere, the conversation usually goes the same way.

"What do you do?" they say.

"I'm a writer," I answer.

"I always wanted to do that," they say.

I wonder if brain surgeons or rocket scientists get the same response.

After I've stifled the urge to scream, I ask why they've never done anything about writing.

"Oh, I'm too busy."

And there's the rub. Everybody is always too busy. It is purely a matter of whether you've got the will and the commitment to see your name in print.

So here is your mantra. Chant it at all times, and repeat it to boring types at dinner parties.

"Writers Write! Wannabe Writers Wanna Write!"

As with all good mantras, it bears closer study. What it says, in a nutshell, is that you'll never be a writer if you don't write. Obvious really, but most beginners ignore it. They procrastinate, they obfuscate, and they pretend to the world and his wife that they're "Working on a piece right now."

Don't believe them. What they mean is that they've had an idea, but they don't really want to do the work to put it in writing. The only way to do it is to sit down with your means of expression, be it pen, word processor, or big thick crayon, and write. Keep writing, and don't stop until you're happy with what you've produced.

Now. Repeat after me.

"Writers Write! Wannabe Writers Wanna Write!"

Now, if you want to call yourself a writer, go and do something about it.

It doesn't matter what you write as long as you start. Your brain gets used to the idea, and soon writing becomes second nature. Remember the mantra, and it will serve you well.

"Writers Write! Wannabe Writers Wanna Write!"


--- copyright WILLIAM MEIKLE

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JANET I. BUCK
Thick Pockets

Glowing comments of your eyes
across my thighs and why's of fate--
seem diamonds that don't belong to me.
A plastic leg, a set of dentures
chewing on the job ahead.
This struggle with its carat fire,
maximized by missingness,
is only a carrot poking up
from prairie grass.
A place where gardens
take their roots when seeds
of something find their wind.

I'm lifting weights,
slapping laps across the pool,
pacing treadmills in the gym 
like fingernails across the board
in classrooms of mortality.
Nothing special, just some
plain brown-wrapper triumph
teething on decline and ebb.

A rumble strip in specious skies
for people with their limbs intact.
I am the udder of a dairy cow
milking motion's foamy worth.
Nothing special, stubborn maybe,
slightly transcendental heat.
Like flames of ethyl alcohol,
your burn is there, just colorless
until some challenge brushing death--
some lethal grade of suffering
arrests your body in an alley,
pins its arms against some wall
and picks thick pockets for its soul.
--- copyright JANET I. BUCK. "Thick Pockets" was previously published on poetryREpairs 01.02:016

'all the fine arts are species of poetry'

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