[Steven Schroeder]

Congratulations to Alicia, whose poem "Ultrasound" from 32 Poems was featured yesterday at Verse Daily.
http://www.versedaily.org/2005/ultrasound.shtml

Edited to add: sorry for the fatigue-induced spelling error in the subject. ARGH!

------------------
Steve Schroeder

[This message has been edited by Steven Schroeder (edited February 09, 2005).]

[Catherine Tufariello]

Congratulations, Alicia! This is a wonderful poem. I especially love the image "Abacus /Of our desire," and the final stanza.

[Roger Slater]

Ditto. I, too, particularly liked the abacus.

I've sometimes thought that an anthology of ultrasound poems would be very popular. We've had ultrasounds for just 20 years or so, yet they seem irresistible to poets. Catherine has at least one, I have an ultrasound light verse poem, and now Alicia has enriched the genre. Does anyone else have one, or know of one? Post them up.

[Janet Kenny]

That's the poem I discovered and spoke excitedly about here some months ago.
If they want my advice again I can be contacted by PM

It's a superb poem!

Thanks for it Alicia.
Janet

[Amy Small-McKinney]

Gorgeous poem, Alicia. Amy

[David Mason]

Symphony!
Alicia rocks!
Dave

[Terese Coe]

Stunning, Alicia.

Terese

[J.A. Crider]

Steve,

Thanks for posting Alicia's lovely poem.

I am the room
The future owns,
The darkness where
It grows its bones.


After the tenderness and delicacy of the preceding stanzas, the ending is profound punch (and all in dimeter).


Roger,

I think you're right about ultrasound technology attracting the poetical imagination. Karl Kirchwey's poem was my first exposure to the genre:


Sonogram


Something of desk work and pornography,
through succulences of conducting gel.
Vector: creation (in a partial view),

held in the half-dark of the examination room,
just as a wishbone of base mineral
holds pomegranite seed or emerald

or alveolus in narthex rose.
God's image lies couched safe in blood and matter,
where an ionic snow falls lightly, hushed

into the deep calm of the body's gulf.
The channel-changer skates...tiny hot springs
of the beating heart, or sinuses of thought

like Siracusa's limestone quarries, where
an army of seven thousand starved to death.
The world of line and measure somewhat darkly

honors you in this glass, child: all your hands
will make, all your body will savor,
your mind consider, or your heart regret,

seeking your whole life for such immanence.

[A. E. Stallings]

Thanks, folks, for the kind words.

Am sure a sonogram anthology would sell like hot-cakes. Perfect shower gift! You should go for it.