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poetry 6: consider the hands that write this letter | 37days
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Life is a Verb Camp. Poetry 6: consider the hands that write this letter. How do we write? Not just the physicality of the act, beautiful enough – hands against paper – but more than that: holding the door to ourselves shut and knocking to get in, simultaneously. Lovely. Lovely. A poem first posted on 37days for National Poetry Month in 2007, it bears repeating. Consider the Hands that Write This Letter. That write this letter. The left palm pressed flat against the paper,. In peace or reverence. Require...
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poetry 1: that the science of cartography is limited | 37days
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Life is a Verb Camp. Poetry 1: that the science of cartography is limited. Every April, I celebrate national poetry month with a poem each day here at. I hope you will enjoy this frolic through metaphor even half as much as I do. I know, I know. At least half of you are moaning. “I hate poetry,” you’re saying to yourself. “I never understand it.”. Or Irish accents if that helps. It never hurts. Poets point us to images we dare not speak aloud, and yet. Come Shall we begin our Poemapalooza? And ends still...
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Patti Digh | 37days
http://www.37days.com/author/pattidigh
Life is a Verb Camp. On the day we were born. Here’s the song I’ve been listening to on repeat in the car. I’ve loved his rendition of it ever since I saw this. Want to form new habits? Here’s the app I love for that. There is a mesmerizing, beautiful, and zen-like game I love to play. I’m loving this for bringing more mindfulness to my day, no matter what I’m doing. Are you a weather geek? This app is fantastic for knowing hyperlocal weather. How to love unconditionally. Laquo; Older Entries. We will al...
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oh, daddy. | 37days
http://www.37days.com/oh-daddy-2
Life is a Verb Camp. When I got to his marker, I sat on it,. Like sitting on the edge of someone’s bed. And I rubbed the smooth, speckled granite. I took some tears from my jaw and neck. And started to wash a corner of his stone. Then a black and amber ant. Ran out onto the granite, and off it,. And another ant hauled a dead. Ant onto the stone, leaving it, and not coming back. Ants ran down into the grooves of his name. And dates, down into the oval track of the. First name’s O, middle name’s O,. When I...
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poetry 5: the fuel that feeds you | 37days
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Life is a Verb Camp. Poetry 5: the fuel that feeds you. If you place a fern. The next day it will be. As if the stone has. If you tuck the name of a loved one. Under your tongue too long. The little sucked-in breath of air. The fuel that feeds you. In celebration of National Poetry Month, a poem a day for the month of April. Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *. On the day we were born. How to love unconditionally. Thinking thursday : racism edition. Life is a Verb Camp.
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poetry 4: pictures of home | 37days
http://www.37days.com/poetry-4-pictures-of-home
Life is a Verb Camp. Poetry 4: pictures of home. In the red-roofed stucco house. Of my childhood, the dining room. Was screened off by folding doors. With small glass panes. Our neighbors. The Bertins, who barely escaped Hitler,. Often joined us at table. One night. Their daughter said, In Vienna. Our dining room had doors like these. For a moment, we all sat quite still. And when Nath Nong, who has to live. In Massachusetts now, saw a picture. Of green Cambodian fields she said,. I told her,. Timed-popu...
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poetry 8: once I believed in you | 37days
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Life is a Verb Camp. Poetry 8: once I believed in you. Vespers [“Once I believed in you…”]. Once I believed in you; I planted a fig tree. Here, in Vermont, country. Of no summer. It was a test: if the tree lived,. It would mean you existed. By this logic, you do not exist. Or you exist. Exclusively in warmer climates,. In fervent Sicily and Mexico and California,. Where are grown the unimaginable. Apricot and fragile peach. Perhaps. They see your face in Sicily; here we barely see. Which does not travel.
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poetry 9: a poem should always have birds in it | 37days
http://www.37days.com/poetry-9-a-poem-should-always-have-birds-in-it
Life is a Verb Camp. Poetry 9: a poem should always have birds in it. In Singapore, in the airport,. A darkness was ripped from my eyes. In the women’s restroom, one compartment stood open. A woman knelt there, washing something in the white bowl. Disgust argued in my stomach. And I felt, in my pocket, for my ticket. A poem should always have birds in it. Kingfishers, say, with their bold eyes and gaudy wings. Rivers are pleasant, and of course trees. A person wants to stand in a happy place, in a poem.
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poetry 10: say yes | 37days
http://www.37days.com/poetry-10-say-yes
Life is a Verb Camp. Poetry 10: say yes. One of my favorite poets and one of my favorite poems. Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *. On the day we were born. How to love unconditionally. Thinking thursday : racism edition. On on the day we were born. On on the day we were born. On on the day we were born. On on the day we were born. On on the day we were born. Life is a Verb Camp. Designed by Elegant Themes. From My Orange Desk - A bi-weekly letter.