Ars Poetica: How to Write a Poem

THE WOMEN gather under the trees.

They bring gifts, food, and chairs.

They are gypsies and queens, oracles, saints,

Jezebels and jesters, healers, sages, and warriors.

And when the circle is complete, the magic begins.

Shyly, with dainty movements, they take turns,

shifting aside their robes to expose

missing limbs and gaping wounds.

The others gather close and peer, heads cocked,

eyes straining, and they chant,

"That is lovely, that is good,"

and the wounds stop weeping,

and they melt into scars,

silvery and light and beautiful.

Then the women lean back and laugh,

and they stretch, sensual and fierce,

like cats in the sun.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Consult the postcard recipe.

Pour a week’s worth of time into

a bowl of images. Add a cup of

coffee and a pinch of rhyme.

Stir briskly with a pen or process

until smooth in your computer.

Procrastination will form on the

top. Skim it off. Season with

humor, hope, or desperation.

Frost it with a desire to belong.

Take it to lunch at Carol’s house

on Friday at 1 p.m.

Serve with love. (7-8 servings)
--Agatha