Critic’s Choice

We all take criticism of our work in different ways. Sometimes we thank the critic and sometimes we are cut to the quick by brutal honesty. If I say your poetry’s great Please don’t reciprocate Just say what you think It won’t cause a stink I will not shout or berate If you find my wit makes you weary If

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The Best?

The Best? We are surrounded by it, we are forced-fed it: candy-floss sentiments, pink and fluffy asinine clichés, the disposable phrases that bedeck cards and gifts. Like Christmas, there is that insidious pressure to conform. What if she was the source of constant pain, emotional damage the ongoing battle with insanity/sanity. What if she manipulated, triangulated, got drunk on sympathy?

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Life Song

I sucked the marrow out of the bone of life And make it whistle for me the song of my death; And my death shall lead my life like a mother goose.   I begin now at 45, Let loose my tongue, And hurl my words at the world.   Through the folly of my fallen body and failing health,

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