This blog is devoted to a select group of poets. We're starting with poets from the Ann Arbor area, but, hey, if you're from Detroit, Grand Rapids, Saginaw or the Upper Peninsula, then that is okay, too. We've even been so generous to accept poets from other parts of the USA and the entire country of Canada!
Our goal is to provide you with a prompt every day from which you are to garner inspiration and submit a poem. How to submit will be very easy. Just put your poem or short story in the comments section and hit post. You may not immediately see your post, but it is there under the "Comments" section. You may need to click on "Comments" to see your poem. It is there on another page.
You may need to have a Gmail or Yahoo or AOL account to post in the comments section. Most of you do have Gmail or Yahoo or AOL, but for those of you that don't, it's extremely worthwhile to open up one of these email accounts now! This way you've got a chance to get your work out there in the world.
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ReplyDeleteGhost
ReplyDeleteNow that you are dead
I have a relationship with your ghost
The relationship is only slightly less real
Than the one I had with you when you were alive
An Irish wake leaves little time for sorrow
We are a people who shun our sadness and loss
I touched your hand for a moment
Held my breath at how hard and inflexible
How heavy a dead hand feels
In a dream last night
You were still unavailable
Though I'm the creator of the dream
You still had that power
Your back turned away from me
Your concentration on the cards
Poker much more of a thrill
Than your twelve-year old daughter
We never escape it, do we?
Not completely anyway
No matter how I've tried
Put away all my childish things
I'll always be your child
Even when I'm ninety
Even if I live to a hundred
Catherine Powers
November 3, 2013
Copyright 2013
ReplyDeleteI wanted to paint it
A portrait of a ghost
I wanted to capture the sense of
Empty space
And the sense of
Uncertainty and abandon
The portrait came out badly
Because all I had to work with
Was a box of tools my father had left me
And some old stockings
The composition was flawed
But not enough to ruin the picture
What was lacking was any sense of sound and motion
She was stiff and formal
No matter how much I tried to convince her to relax
- Mike Fedel
November 2013