VALENTINA CANO : Bread Making
HANS BEIHL : Window
WENDY L. HAMMOND : Abyss of Comprehension
POETRYREPAIRS v13.01:010
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


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VALENTINA CANO
Bread Making
What a morning to begin laying a path. Brick pieces, stone dust, glass shards. Anything I could get my hands on went into the ground. I poured and stretched, filling the space before me, like a piece of dough. Dough and roads, grow. Harden in heat. Mold.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01:010
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I have many things to write unto you but   I will not write with pen and ink
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HANS BEIHL 
Window
The blue spruce outside her window Senses her indecision, The final approach to a turning point; The sediment of unmet expectations, Fallen fences of desire and need, Rusted entanglements of truth and lies, The contradictions, the compromises-- All now weighing heavy on her mind; How much should one endure Before giving up? Seeing it there, tall and aloof Shouldered against Slick towers of steel and glass, And the drivers stuck in traffic, Impatient to fill their lives up, Desperately wishing They were somewhere else-- How she envies its pure simplicity! Quietly drinking the sun, Serenely greening its needle gown, Taking in Only what the wind and rain allow, Without complaint-- Never beyond the limits of its thrust-- A virtue of trees, Of every living thing-- Except us-- Stuck at the surface of time and space, Barely aware of who and why we are, We find that nothing is ever enough-- Like children hurling rocks skyward And watching them fall to the ground-- Our restlessness, it seems, is sewn In the deepest fabric of our thought: We are designed--condemned To always push Beyond our conscious bounds-- To yearn for what is not, And bear the knowledge Of a line that can't be crossed; And then suddenly it becomes clear, She realizes, What a part of her knew all along-- Her anger was not directed toward him, But toward herself for being human, Being flawed-- Her judgment had been too harsh; Hope and love--and all their illusions-- Though always short of completion Are the only way we have To transcend our imperfections To make sense of what does not-- To fumble with our Gordian knot.
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01: 010
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Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato




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Bread Making Window Abyss of Comprehension  
POETRY requires a mature audience ENTER only if you are 18+ under 18? klik here

WENDY L. HAMMOND
Abyss of Comprehension
edges draw me toward centered states where I spit words into bottomless pits, and understanding dives into the abyss for the thrill of constant falling echoes call reverberates, and silence knows its own slow retaliation has nothing to offer, has no reason to scream for the fear of the trip, the slip through slices of meaning and edges draw me, a magnetic sucking to know all possibilities of mind and matter, diagnose each clatter of thought, each un-vocalized demeanor paint the backdrop a shade deeper and watch above for the twinkle of answer as ageless, timeless pastures of wisdom float in the abyss of comprehension it is within flight and levitation when movement caresses the second hand, and books with missing covers knowingly read our faces
POETRYREPAIRS 13.01: 010
VALENTINA CANO : Bread Making
HANS BEIHL : Window
WENDY L. HAMMOND : Abyss of Comprehension
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