SUE LITTLETON : Kinnygarden
CRAIG KIRCHNER : Neonpoem
BESS KEMP : Fallen
POETRYREPAIRS v11.09:051
contemporary international poetry - for your reading pleasure,
poetry from new and established poets and essays on writing


All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge



JH when a young child or as a grown adult, we seldom recognize why leadership is thrown upon us. Others may crave it, may grab it; but true leadership surprizes.

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Kinnygarden Neonpoem Fallen  
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SUE LITTLETON
Kinnygarden
    Young, pretty, dark-haired Miz Kyle was our kinnygarden teacher. Each mid-morning Miz Kyle would seat all of us children in a big circle and then hand out the musical instruments for Music Hour. I would perch on the edge of my little wooden chair, wrapped in an aura of yearning so intense I could hardly breathe. Oh, that this time I might play the red-painted tambourine, with the white calf's hide drumhead and the crinkled, jangly brass bangles! ... Inevitably, I was given the rhythm sticks.  Fifty-seven years later, on a visit to my hometown, there was Sophie Kyle. "Miz Kyle!" I gasped as I hugged her, "You're still here!" She hugged me back, fragile as a dried leaf. "Still here," she told me crisply. "I hear you've written a book of poetry -- send me a copy." With the book I mailed a letter, and in the letter I finally confronted Miz Kyle about the tambourine. "Why did you never give me that wondrous musical instrument?" I wrote plaintively.  "Here I am, a grown woman of a certain age with children and grandchildren, and still I pine for the tambourine!"   Sophie's answering letter was succinct and enlightening. "Dear Sue:  Anyone could play the tambourine," she wrote in neat spidery letters, "but only children with a definite sense of rhythm could play the sticks. Without you, the other children would have lost the beat. You were always a special child. I like your poetry very much. Love, Sophie."   Somewhere in the distant past a radiant little girl tosses her blonde Dutch bob and marches merrily onward to First Grade to the clickety cadence of her rhythm sticks.   
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I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian





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Kinnygarden Neonpoem Fallen  
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CRAIG KIRCHNER
Neonpoem
Throw away your mascara, mousse and underwear. Wear these lines for a week, just one week, not a long time. Let the words mold your face, drape your shoulders, delicate breasts. Let the lyric infuse your dreams, scent your pillows press your thighs with invisible weight. At the end of the week if these Emperor's clothes are your neon poem, call me. I'll be here on hold, won't have eaten, but won't rewrite. You are new ink that will not dry.
POETRYREPAIRS 12.05: 051
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato



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Kinnygarden Neonpoem Fallen  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

BESS KEMP
Fallen
Fallen you were monday morning in bed wrapped like fish from the corner market leaving a slight stain you were tuesday moving through the crowd to catch the tube crowded in like canned asparagus you were wednesday in the flush of love after the night blew out the sun waking to find your arms wrapped around her torso you were thursday night dinner too, lies by candlelight leaving your crumbs across the checkered tablecloth you were friday alone in your flat not returning calls empty bottles lining the formica then you were saturday spinning out of control burned at both ends ashes ashes... you were sunday once and now you are simply lost days
POETRYREPAIRS 12.05: 051
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SUE LITTLETON : Kinnygarden
CRAIG KIRCHNER : Neonpoem
BESS KEMP : Fallen

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