American Sentence #30

Under a midnight moon cicadas sing the last summer song of death.

Summer Morning #3 Haiku

summer morning
quiets the night cry of
chuck-wills-widow

Scot’s Poetry Challenge #2, Bukowski’s– The Man With the Beautiful Eyes

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NeQVKxWIL Vs

OPEN TO ALL

Another good one from Bukowski. Go watch this great video and then write a poem on the theme or message this brings–it is wide open and will generate a wide variety of great work. Those of you who sat back and cheered–it is now time.

Send your poem/prose poem/ flash fiction related to this to scotyoungpoetry@gmail.com
Please include a third person BIO..

Summer Morning #2 Haiku

summer morning
silence broken by light
rain on a tin roof

Summer Morning #1 Haiku

This is the first of three summer morning haiku from our Ozark hideaway.

summer morning–
yellow swallowtails dance on
wild bee balm

Scot Young published in Sketchbook

You may have read these: Smithereens, Chinatown Jazz, For a Moment, and Before Girls. If not click here they are in this month’s Sketchbook along with a lot of good poetry. You will also find the work of two friends–Pris Campbell and A.D. Winans.

Web 2.0

the glow of the screen
lit up the key board
in past midnight darkness
on some lonely site
the popup read
when will you die?

–click here–

sometimes
the blocker is no
match for reality
and
reality
no match for
lonely nights

Protected: dancing naked at woodstock

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My Little Bluebird…………..Alexa Cohen

(Alexa wrote this so her little girl would understand. She also didn’t think it was good enough to post. I did)

Testing your wings.

There was a time
when you would stay,
when you were mine.

When I was your world,
When there was no one
but me by your side.
When you were my world.

Now you are flying
laughing and free.
You are smiling
with joy in those eyes
that no longer need
to look into mine.

Fly away, my little bluebird.
.

……………………………………….Free.

Bio

I am a 38 years old mum who studied Middle Ages Literature and History but who works as airline ground staff to earn her life.
I live with my three daughters, my three dogs and my three cats in a shabby house which is never as clean and tidy as it should be.
My little daughter is partially deaf. She is ten years old and to me, she is the most beautiful child in the whole wide world.
MY blog is http://rebelpoets.wordpress.com but it’s not really a poetry blog. It’s rather a mess

Bukowski’s Bluebird_______ by Mark Folse

Not only words in his mouth
but what look like feathers,
clamped tight in his teeth
like an anxious gambler’s cigarette.
Cat eyed and smiling at the bar,
he caught beauty perched on a stool
and swallowed it in one bite.
Now odd notes issue from his throat.
His words come out as songs.

Mark Folse lives and writes in postdiluvian New Orleans. He posts poetry at poemsbeforebreakfast.blogspot.com and chronicles his life in NOLA at Toulouse Street-Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans. http://toulousestreet.net