Finished a poem about a barberess with “mist frizz red excelsior fire” (I speak of hairdos), and another about a gold-digging mistress who steals from the rich, and gives to - herself (a sort of modern day Robin Hood). Both true stories, too – or at least absolutely faithful accounts of what never really happened. Find myself (don’t tell the literati – shhhh) reading a great deal of Miss Christie these days. Generally don’t care for pop fiction – but the lady knew what she was doing. Halloween Party is one of her better-and-lesser-known efforts, nicely grisly, clever, full of good stuff. Heartily recommend ...
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Subconscious Echoes Move A Writer to Purpose: Just Do It! About three weeks ago, I felt compelled to get out of my bed, go to the computer, and start my own poetry blog site. Why? I don’t remember the thought process, and all I know is I was there and doing it. Stepping outside of my self for a moment, I was extremely impressed with my committed momentum to get this site up and out there. What got me going in such obsessive focus? I was at the end of reading A New Earth Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose by Eckhart Tolle. I think ...
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A poem by Pearl Simmons I can't protect you any more. I can't make your hurt go away. I tell you I love you and show you I care. I try to help out when things don't seem fair. But my power as a mother goes only so far. I can't always reach the places you are. I want to be close like we were before, But you want to move on -- to discover what's more. When you were a baby, I'd hold you tight, And keep you forever within my sight. I could satisfy your every need, It was an easy time ...
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This is the latest piece from the collection I am tentatively titling Tercet By Moonlight. It was inspired by a woman named Murial that I work with. We had a very engaging conversation about the American Axel strike and what she felt it meant to the Union and the Automotive Industry as a whole. They’re Knuckling Under Secretive grins smear the high horses faces Their clever, anvil hammered shoes trampling The teetering weather weakened picket fence Corporate Nazgûl , dark riders, kings dethroned Whose pungent chemical breath chokes and pushes The whirling feather of solidarity Union sweat still lingering on the down line Hopelessly ...
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Poems I wrote while I was homeless, with autobiographical notes. November 1995: Wes Browning, a long-time member of StreetLife Gallery, was also active with Real Change, Seattle's street-newspaper, which covered homeless and poverty issues and was sold by homeless vendors. He took my poem down to Real Change, and the next time Tim Harris, the Real Change director, was visiting Wes at the gallery, they invited me to join the Real Change editorial committee. The December issue was being collected: a women's issue. I had one poem that I had been working on literally for years, that had begun with the image of Mary ...
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