Category Archives: wewritepoems

cento: location of the mind

Was I not 
interested in man?
I don’t care a rap
what people are or believe.
You 
+++++must be superhuman
She 
+++++practically becomes a recluse
He 
+++++may be insensitive
That is their business
 
 
They come to me.
++++++++I lost myself 
++++++++in the very
++++++++properties of their minds
++++++++I could touch it, smell it
++++++++And all have contributed to my pie
From the very beginning 
that 
fascinated me 
even more than I myself knew.

from:
William Carlos Williams
The Practice
reprinted in Narrative Magazine

Protected: Considering Forms of Love

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animal poem for WWP

animal poem for WWP

In answer to your question:
Yes.
I can, in fact bwaawk like a hen.

( conversationally ) Bwaaawk, bwaaawk, bwaaawk.

( with excitement ) BWaaaawk!

( self-satisfied, or petulant, oddly the same )Bwawk.

and ( because there are always such moments ) Bwaawk?

It’s a skill; it’s a talent; it’s an art.

For other animal visions, see
WWP http://wewritepoems.wordpress.com/2010/10/13/prompt-23-its-post-your-poems-day/

Exercise #1

One thing that came to me along with my husband was a book of essays, Vibration Cooking.  While it does in fact contain recipes, it is in reality a book about people making joy and home from the ingredients at hand.

The directions were clear enough, but not restrictive.
…………………….To question would require an act of imagination, or
…………………….the mind of a ten-year-old.

But adaptable.  There was no saying:  I don’t have that
and closing the book on the whole enterprise.
And why not be open to interpretation?

This was not neurosurgery,
or baking,
or contract law.

Locking the door behind me,

I stepped out into October, with the crows cursing the gray cat,
acorns clicking onto the sidewalk, dogs making exuberant remarks
about squirrels and personal property, and juvenile rodents devouring
the red ripe kernels of pomegranate-like magnolias

and began to

Walk At Least 5 Minutes Every Day

gold

the girl with dreams in place of a heart

she liked books about horses
and often concocted
epic adventures for a girl just her age
with golden palomino ponies,
glossy black stallions and blue roans.

always, in imagination,
there would be triumph
blue rosettes, golden trophy cups,
racing silks like motley,
purple as mardi gras.

when the plots began
to hinge on human males
imagination drew romance:
something old, something blue
white satin, lace,
and a golden ring.

for more color, visit

and see how many ways there are to look at a prompt