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Time Is Like A Clock by Shelley J Alongi This poem about time is dedicated to my mother, Terry, who went to be with the Lord in Dec... [90 words]
Absolute Time by Michelle Worswick The spontaneous work. [58 words]
The Four Seasons by Iain Spittles Just another poem. [96 words]
Silk Sea by Michelle Worswick Check it out. [59 words]
The Locks by Michelle Worswick Sigh... [30 words]
Tomorrows by Arthur Henry Isaacson After the World Trade Towers attack. [162 words]
To Perfection by Cesar Santana - [135 words]
Telephone Conversation by Iain Spittles Noting much. [272 words]
Sun by Vianne-Marie Fortier It's kind of weird... I was inspired by this piece at night. Go figure. [71 words]
Simple Simon by Ashley Burdett Looking back and realizing how much we took our childhood for granted. [48 words]
Roses And Us by Zohaib Siddiqui It's a poem having an artistic concept of love within. It's simple but best for the moment when co... [65 words]
Psalm by Ashley Burdett Just a poem written about someone who is being hurt by God. [87 words]
Place by Fizzgig McArthur I wrote this the other night before noon. [56 words]
Passion Reborn by Alberto Pupo A flow of thoughts an outpouring of emotion, dedicated to a grow currently making a difference i... [105 words]
Once Blinded by Kathrine Knickrehm Being a Christian is hard and it's easy to forget what we are living for. Sometimes we forget tha... [184 words]
New York 91101 by Arthur Henry Isaacson Aftermath of World Trade Towers Attack. [106 words]
Mary-Lou by Woodside A little humorous Haiku. [12 words]
Lowest Low. by Iain Spittles Just read it, it'll only take a minute. If you're bigger than your ego, you may even 'empathise'. [94 words]
Gravity Amateurs Image 15 by Martin De Leon this is an improvisational piece recorded while visually intoxicated. the title is sa... [66 words]
Godess by Bj Fall This poem was written about a girl I had dated for awhile... [61 words]
Dis-Appointment by Pepijn Sauer Short poem. [12 words]
Cook Out, Everybody! by Scott W. Hazzard Hero stuff. [78 words]
Cold Around My Heart by Zohaib Siddiqui It's another poem of mine and it's having a the concept of love and search of god a person... [69 words]
Beauty Of Grey by Woodside A poem about life, and how we live it. [116 words]
An Expression Of Grief by Linoa Ameagari A poem about the recent events of the attack on America. [65 words]
To Diana Empress Of The Heart... by Alberto Pupo Dedicated to the one I loved... Perhaps I still do love. [112 words]
Thud by Vianne-Marie Fortier There isn't much to say about it... [47 words]
This Old Familiar Chair by Susieq Hicks Things that remind you of loved ones keep you going sometimes. [162 words]
The Well Wrought Gate, A Collection
Saturnine by Alberto Pupo Depressing, yet enlightening... [90 words]
Rain (Is What This Poem Would Have Been Called) by Fizzgig McArthur I wrote it in the rain. [175 words]
Pools... by Alberto Pupo For love is predestined... [78 words]
Pandemonium! by Alberto Pupo Total chaos is afoot... [76 words]
Memories Of Destiny by Alberto Pupo Remember.... [73 words]
Hand by Andrew Mornahr experimental poetry [44 words]
Essence Of Death by Alberto Pupo Life... Death... [69 words]
Embrace Again by Alberto Pupo Strange rantings... [87 words]
Before Me... by Alberto Pupo Yes before me... [82 words]
Baby's Mr. Pearl by Scott W. Hazzard Shakin' That Azz [186 words]
Awaiting A Call. by Alberto Pupo Desperation at its finest... [71 words]
Anwser To You by Alberto Pupo Anwser? [48 words]
01 The Shadow Of Static by Martin De Leon - [125 words]
You Must Realize by Michelle Worswick The fleece begins to get those little fabric nubs that my mom hates, it's getting worn, and do... [54 words]
Wherever by Peter Elvern People - [107 words]
The Same by Michelle Worswick The naivity of a young girl.... [75 words]
The Poles by Michelle Worswick The fleece arrives... [65 words]
The Last Time... by Peter Elvern People - [68 words]
The Grass Inbetween by Michelle Worswick The distance between two people can't stop emotions. [81 words]
The Frustrated Author by Iain Spittles See title. [136 words]
The Blooming by Michelle Worswick A time of renaissance... [41 words]
Suppression by Michelle Worswick A lie....doesn't make a good blanket... [78 words]
Still Here by Peter Elvern People - [67 words]
Staring At Me by Peter Elvern People A tribute to Kurt Cobain. [97 words]
She's Got Beef. by Iain Spittles Just another dull poem to uninspire you. For some reason I can't use italics there should be so... [73 words]
Self-Inflicted by Peter Elvern People Dedicated to my friend Julia, love you :) [124 words]
Ode To Mr. T by Iain Spittles Just a quick poem for fun. [62 words]
No Title As Yet by Iain Spittles Another short piece, just tell me what you think, if you take the time to read it, please also ... [272 words]
My Idiot Cat by Kathleen McCarthy A poem for anyone who is owned by a cat or cats. [213 words]
Misery's Finest Hour by James R. Williams Feelings of a soldier. [79 words]
Love Is A ... by Travis Baker A poem about the most beautiful woman I've ever met. [142 words]
Lifeless by Peter Elvern People A tribute to Kurt Cobain. [93 words]
I'm Leaving Now by Peter Elvern People - [92 words]
If Once Never Was.... by Ferris, Rashad - E. Love McCarter About the day the girl I dreamed about finally became mine... [201 words]
From Me by Peter Elvern People - [166 words]
Fit Hands by Michelle Worswick Finding a person who fixes our flaws, and allows you to do the same... [69 words]
Falling In Love Again by Rosalyn Meadors A poem about love, loss, and loving again. [210 words]
Embrace by Peter Elvern People - [176 words]
Composition For Three French Horns And Turntables. by Martin De Leon - [119 words]
Change And Continuity by Iain Spittles Just a short poem to test what kind of response rate to expect if i post some of my other... [49 words]
Autre by Michelle Worswick The feeling of being inferior... [59 words]
At The Cinema by Michelle Worswick Make your own images. [58 words]
Are You Happy? by Scott W. Hazzard A work in progress. [269 words]
Angel (Julia) by Peter Elvern People For my friend Julia, clean for three months; love you :) [68 words]

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The Well Wrought Gate, A Collection
A Collection: The Well Wrought Gate, Black Rabbits And Lettuce, Joseph, After The Annunciation, A Poem Inspired By George Herbert' "Jordan", A Polish Blonde.
[372 words]
Duane Locke
Duane Locke, Doctor of Philosophy in Renaissance Literature, Professor Emeritus of the Humanities, Poet in Residence at University of Tampa for over twenty years, he has had over 2,000 of his own poems published in over 500 print magazines such as American Poetry Review, Nation, Literary Quarterly, Black Moon, and Bitter Oleander, is author of 14 books of poems, his latest being WATCHING WISTERIA, as a cyber-poet, since Sept 1, 1999 has had 665 acceptances of his poems by online e zines, photographer, listed in PSA's WHO'S WHO as one of the top twenty nature photographers, currently has 45 of his Alley photos accepted on line (These are pictures made of discards and trash in alleys. He moves in close to find a design that speaks beauty from what people have thrown away), painter, currently having a one-man show of over 30 painting at the Pyramid gallery in Tampa, winner for poetry of the Edna St. Vincent Millay, Charles Agnoff, and Walt Whitman awards, now lives alone and isolated in the sunny Tampa slums. He lives estranged and as an alien, not understanding the customs, the costumes, the language, some form of postmodern English, of his surroundings. The egregious ugliness of his neighborhood has been mitigated by the esthetic efforts of the police who put up bright orange and yellow posters on each post to advertise the location is a shopping mall for drugs. His recreational activities are drinking wine, listening to old operas, and reading postmodern philosophy.
[February 2000]
River Bank, A Collection (Poetry) A collection of of verse - River Bank With For Sale Sign, A Weed In A Yard Where A Fence Has Fallen, Abandoned Azaleas In A Vacant Lot, Earth's Rainbows, Moths. [161 words]
The Well Wrought Gate, A Collection
Duane Locke


I observe the well-constructed gate
In the front of my decaying house,


The tree was cut,
Why was the wood was sawed,
Why were the nails were hammered?

I ask why this beautiful gate
That required
So much labor to build.

Why this gate
When there is no fence?


In the backyard
Of the unsuccessful man,

Black bunnies nibble on green lettuce,
The  event
Reminds of
Japanese scenes
Of ebony and jade
Done in lacquer.


Were my eyes blindfolded?   Now I pace,
The tongues of sawdust lick my ankles
And snails crawl on sawed boards.
The red bedsheets in our separate rooms have turned pale.
What used to be my life is now stripped naked.
In the future, I'll wear a black cape over my face.
I, who have read many books, will be
Spoken of as simple-minded, obedient saint.
I'll keep paying the rent, try not to think
About the rich man who lives in white stone house,
Where Mary worked as housekeeper.
If I were French, I would drink  much absinthe.


Who says that girls with brass globes bored
Into the middle of their snake-like tongues
And girls with their heads shaved bald
Are the only fit subjects for postmodern love poems?
Is there no longer any attraction to a body
That is not mutilated with rings and tattoos?
Is there no longer any beauty in a Vermeer face,
Or a Botticelli Venus arising among flung roses
Of  a white-capped sea to stand on a scallop shell?
Must Venus have a bouquet of roses tattooed on her ass?
Is all good structure, a termite-eaten, collapsing stair?
Must one only speak once-tabooed,
Meaningless, monosyllabic words
To express the intricacies and profundities of love?
Who states this new aesthetics?  Is it
The high school teacher with a paper tiger
Tattooed  seven inches about her ankle?
Or was it the spaced-out college professor
With a pink knee peeping out of torn blue jeans?
Or the old, lickspittle professor trying to be au courant
And be liked by the hoi polloi?
I say, "No."  I go back to Italy
To touch magpie shadows on a bare shoulder
As we sip Campari among olive trees and poppies.


Once she had
A real rose
Growing inside
Her heart.

But the real rose
Had thorns,
She tore
The real rose out.

Now he has
A red wax rose.
It has no thorns,
It never wilts,

Its petals
Stay intact
On its
Wax stem.

The new rose
Stays stiff
And secure,
Gathers dust.



"Some great lines. Your "Jordon" poem is by far the best work in here. It takes a strong stance, gives great examples, while having some valuable sound quality. I can relate to it, and it made me chuckle a bit. I think when you reveal a motivation, an opinion, or any definite tendency behind the voice of a poem, it only makes things better. When you reveal the source of the words, paint the pictures behind that moment or thought, that made it all inevitable, that's when you seem to get your best stuff. The thin stuff might be when you use uninteresting words and concepts like "roses" that's been done over and over, you'd have to pour concrete on it and dance the rumba on top in order to get anything new out of it." -- Hazzard.


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© 2001 Duane Locke
August 2001

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