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Old 07-30-2006, 09:59 PM
gair88 gair88 is offline
Poetry Blog Host
Replies: 69
Views: 11,387
Poet's Corner 2006 Archive - A Home for New Mexico Poets

Note to Bloggers: This is a multi-page Journal! Use the page navigation bar located on the right below the last post on this page to view more pages.

My name is Gair. I'm a musician, artist, and writer who has lived for many years in the very old village of La Joya, New Mexico. A while back I suggested Steppin' Out should consider providing a place where poets could post their work. Their first reaction was to say they already had a forum for "Poets, Writers and Authors". Later, they realized the "Poets, Writers and Authors" forum is also a news forum. As such, it requires moderation before posts actually appear. So, they decided I was right and after more discussion, agreed Steppin' Out would host a place where New Mexico poets can let fly with their dithyrambs and couplets! The result is this special public Journal (a.k.a 'Web Log' or 'Blog') which is devoted to the many talented poets of New Mexico.

Thanks to Steppin' Out for providing this space and welcome to the 'Poet's Corner'! I'm gonna be pretty open to what goes up here, but there's no shortage of politics and raunch on the internet already, and i think it would be copasetic if we head down some "less traveled roads"...also I wouldn't mind thinking that kids might be welcome here come on, all you flat topped cats and dungereed dolls...whip it on us!

Visit the 2007 Poet's Corner here.

Note to Bloggers: This is a multi-page Journal! Use the page navigation bar located on the right below the last post on this page to view more pages.


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07-30-2006, 10:29 PM Old
I'm glad to see our new poet's blog is up. I'm looking forward to seeing Gair and lots of other poets display their works here.

Welcome, Gair. And welcome to other New Mexico poets too!
pengwen pengwen is offline
07-30-2006, 10:30 PM Old
Okay... Thanks to gair's original suggestion, we've made the first step. The Steppin Out 'Poet's Corner' blog is in place and ready for all poets who are registered users (including gair) to post here. What we need NOW is some intrepid soul to take the first step.

Maybe I should start by saying that like many frustrated teens, I personally wrote a bunch of my own poetry almost 40 years ago. Few of them were love poems. Most were my soul's private musings about my life and what it was like during those years. That book of poems is still languishing around here somewhere... waiting for family archeologists to dig it up one day after I'm long dead and buried.

Then perhaps I should add that my own favorite poem has always been Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken" because ever since I was a kid it seemed to speak directly to those who like me had chosen a different path... a way of approaching life in what Henry David Thoreau described in "Walden" this way: "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer." From a very young age I was always doing that. So, naturally on the day that I first ran across Frost's classic poem, it spoke deeply to me. And it still does. So, with appropriate apologies and credit to America's much lauded poet laureate, Mr Frost, I'll launch this blog by quoting a portion of my personal favorite of all his poems...

"The Road Not Taken" ends with these lines...

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somehwere ages and ages hence.

Two roads diverged in a wood and I

Took the one less traveled by.

And that has made all the difference.

Before I go, for a bit more information about Gair Linhart and his various creative interests, I'd like to refer you to his personal web site, which is hosted here on our server... You'll find Gair's site and gallery at Please take a moment and drop in for a visit to learn a bit more about Steppin' Out's resident poet!

And now, I'll shut up, sit here in the corner and listen quietly...
webmaster webmaster is offline
07-31-2006, 10:56 PM Old
Who I Am

I don't carry a briefcase

I don't get off the train every night at five-thirty

I don't have adoring or rotten kids waiting for me

I don't have a sexy


or servile wife either

What do I have?

All I have is this

About once every ten thousand years or so

A real goddess of love will grant me refuge in her temple

I will sing songs

fix her swamp cooler and roll on the floor with her dogs

I will sip wine and chop potatoes

She will create a stew more piquant than might any man's legal wedded


Crickets will sing and stars will shine in through her screen door

C 1993 Gair

New Mexico Waltz (Song)

When the wild horses come down the canyon

And the desert is smoky and blue

When the sandhill cranes come home for winter

That's when I'll be dreaming of you

When the red, red wine

Runs through the valley

And the ninos dance

Under the stars

I'll remember how

We used to be so happy

How we danced to

These same guitars...

When the wild horses come down the canyon

And the desert is smoky and blue

When the chilis are ready for ristras

That's when I'll be dreaming of you

That's when I'll be dreaming of you

Dreaming of you...

Dreaming of you...

Dreaming of you...

C 1990 Gair

I Don't Believe It

I resent it when I'm told of realms beyond this life

By those who haven't seen

But I believe that the millions in the crowded streets and roads

And billions in the world do not exist

They are just manikins and chimeras

And after all

There was only you and me

C 1990 Gair

I Missed Haley's Comet

I missed Haley's Comet, there above old Silver City

Like the Boy Bandit King, I went to the bad (my biographers may write)

Away beyond the hills

in the back of my station wagon

I made love to a black eyed coquette

throughout that whole blessed night

My nieces and my nephews ask me

How I could have missed it?

But I try to explain that, though many saw the comet

None saw a brighter flame that night

C Gair 2006
gair88 gair88 is offline
Poetry Blog Host
08-13-2006, 06:39 PM Old


Feeling a soft breeze

I wait VERY patiently

My ship has new sails

C 1967 Mati
gair88 gair88 is offline
Poetry Blog Host
08-13-2006, 09:14 PM Old
Thank you, gair. Please thank poetess Maki too. Her Haiku speaks!
webmaster webmaster is offline
08-13-2006, 09:39 PM Old
Telling Time
by damian

Some tell time
with the shadow of the sun
upon a disk.
Others do it
watching grains of sand
flow through a glass.
Many count the hours
by the passage of moving hands
over a dial.
While a few prefer
glowing digits
on a display;
But from this day forward,
I will always tell time
by the condition of your marks
upon my flesh.
And if those marks
ever fade away,
I will know
it has been
too long.

(c) 1998 by damian[/right]
damian damian is offline
Contributing Poet
08-14-2006, 06:17 PM Old
This is delightfully wicked and very artfully done...thanx Damian for your really well considered "SUBMISSION" (sorry) about another poem? By the way all you young poets, Telling Time is a fabulous example of a conceit, which is poetry lingo for an ingenious sort of fanciful metaphor which we were getting to when I quit school....gair88
gair88 gair88 is offline
Poetry Blog Host
08-15-2006, 08:48 PM Old
Hallo, Wairzels, your old pal Lizzers here who stayed some time in the beautiful village of La Joya over in Richard's cool house (and is the prickly pear still there? and the outhouse? and the mysterious Black Hole in the kitchen?) to all the great folk I met there in that Red Clay Nook of the Earth, I especially remember you, Susie and Karen. One of my fave photos from those days is your guitar case opened up with Pinky sleeping inside it, all pink from the red clay dust...

Maybe we could have a Limerick Round, that is, take turns writing lines of limericks.
If you would like to contribute the first line, I will fill in a second.
lizzers lizzers is offline
Contributing Poet
08-15-2006, 10:07 PM Old
Here are some poems of mine.
This one is for a pagan friend of mine, a brilliant and charismatic man in identity politics:

Poem for Robert

Still behind the shielding weeds
he stands with his staff,
gray tendrils lifting like horns
Leather and velvet cloak him
Deep carvings channel his wood
The beginning and end of his all
(for the nonce)
a crystal notion
in a far-flung dimension.

Still behind him the ancestors
entrenched to shoulder height
cover him with arms,
While on the parlor table
pieces in semi-formation
will leap, click and march
at the smallest movement of his hand.

(c) Lizzers 2006

Here is a poem about my ex-in-laws' house, they are obsessively clean, insanely religious, extremely rigid, and their kids came out with the scars to prove it:

Spreadeth Not the Salmonella

Enter that lemony fresh Hell, and
Share in the Lite of a Lo-Fat Life
Microwaved, Aspartame-ed, Potpourri-ed
Billows of white frosted with sealant
paved with plastic
Smiles on the walls
and screams from the Shuttered Room.

O, the Glory of Humility, squeeze bottles and
snack-sized Miracles
No idle hands where calico is crafted from the heart,
that unspeakable gift, and
True Crime glows in the den.

(c) Lizzers 2006

Here is a poem about my mom's house.
Her health is failing and she has retreated into a frightening inner world where only her animals count.

The Luverly Keeper

Take a deep breath. Hold it.
Then plunge through the membrane
into the fragrance of the baying Colony.
Sidestep scabby terriers teetering on untrimmed claws,
pleading the needle.
and duck pockets of lovingly tended suspicion.

Hopscotch over fossilized accidents
warns the former prom queen,
lest your wake scatter ziggurats of ancient news.

At their pillbottle battlements, sentries babble their epics,
reliving the stony thunder of that long-gone giant.
But let's not look out the window. The neighbors are always watching.
Pull the curtains!

Tune out to the Saturday Night Psychic,
toss another fistful of pale econo-kibble to the mouths,
huddle, rub your brittle hands.
There is life yet in those old creatures, and they will sense the Thing
just moments before its arrival.

(c) Lizzers 2006

OK, Lovecraftian perhaps, I will try to write something upbeat about New Mexico next time!
lizzers lizzers is offline
Contributing Poet
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