Like onions and the smells that underly
each ring, this thread has gone and made me cry.

"The Onion doth come;
it makes you want to smile"
they said. "How wrong!" I thought
but then I saw the guile:
theonion.com

[This message has been edited by Solan (edited September 06, 2002).]

The first day of fall came and went
and I forgot to thank it;
it left behind air’s cooler scent
so I brought out my blanket.
The summer has ended, sans lament,
I grabbed my leather jacket
and hiked up my hill, without the tent,
unearthed the chill and drank it.


------------------
zz

I cannot presume to know The Muse
or why they’d block your emails,
but if I were you I would refuse
to send them in the first place.


------------------
zz

If the poem is lost in the void
the Muse must be sore and annoyed.

Chris

[This message has been edited by chris (edited October 10, 2002).]

If the poem doesn't have any meter,
it might just get lost in the ether.

If the void is metered
and the ether annoyed
then the lost might get teetered
and the Muse –overjoyed.


------------------
zz

<u>The Minimalist</u>

Crows wheel overhead,
and the only sounds
in this dead land
are the cries of the poets
Keening for lost adjectives.

Mad Mary,
Minimalist,
divelicates
my whole.
Masticates,
adjudicates
and
extricates
its soul

“Show don’t tell.
Don’t need that.
You’ll do well
to lose some fat!”

My epic poem
has lost
its heft,
arhythmically.
Like the Cheshire cat,
now all
that’s left
is a simile.

Through a glass dimly
I looked for a simile
to say just how grimly
....my fates had behaved.

But I wasn't ready for
accurate metaphor:
I'm like a semaphore
....nobody waved.