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Old 03-21-2008, 01:56 PM
gair88 gair88 is offline
Poetry Blog Host
Replies: 44
Views: 55,045
Poet's Corner 2008 - 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 Linhart. I'm a musician, artist and writer who lives in the old village of La Joya, New Mexico. It is my privilege to be the moderator of this forum.

Thanks to all of our New Mexico and world wide poets for their fabulous contributions in 2007. My dream is to see a compilation published one day, but for now, our 2007 blog is off to the archives. To read what was posted in 2006, click here. To read the 2007 contributions from our poet-members, click here. Once again, we are trying to deemphasize the politics and really raunchy stuff, since we have kids visiting and contributing.

To post here you must be registered and confirmed. (This helps us keep out spammers and hackers). Click here to register. Read the email we send you to confirm. Already confirmed? Click [POST REPLY] to post your poetry or comments below.

Thanks! gair88

Visit the 2006 Poet's Corner here. The 2007 blog is 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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03-21-2008, 03:04 PM Old
Roses are red,

Money is green,

New Moon Poetry Fest

is the spot to get read

and be seen!

Join us April 6th...

That'd be peachy keen!

Yeah, it's not the world's best rhyme
but they outlawed both limericks
and ribald sex gimmicks.
So, most 'o my good stuff
would just be a crime!

- Damian (The Pervy Poet)
damian damian is offline
Contributing Poet
03-23-2008, 11:46 AM Old
At the Becker Street Pub

At the Becker Street Pub

When the front door opens

Heads turn to see who's walkin' in

Most heads turn

Some don't

The green felt chalkies look up from their games

to see if any heavy hitters

or easy chumps are entering

The desperately lonely rubber neck

for potential lovers,

with undisguised

longing looks

The socializers look for scandal and clothes

The working people look for co-workers

to blow off steam with

The real drinkers don't look at all

It's already in the glass in their hand

Some of them started out as above listed types

Then lost their amateur status

Most of us are running from something




Nagging spouses

Rotten kids


and of course


It ain't a good life, but at least the

laughter all around us is not canned

Cracked and braying though it may be

We ain't brain-wired to a

T.V. or computer for our kicks

I guess they'll stamp us out in a few more years

We already have to go and freeze outside

to have a smoke

The choices on the warmly throbbing juke box

are way more exotic than

what's on your satellite dish at home

Good luck finding Ferlin Husky or Patsy

or Al Hurricane or Los Tigres del Norte

on the Ted Turner networks

And even if you did you wouldn't get to play DJ

with your quarters and

hold the other

revelers captive to your whims

At the Becker Street Pub

When the front door opens

Most turn to see who's walkin' in

Or at least sneak a peek in the mirror

C 2008 Gair Linhart
gair88 gair88 is offline
Poetry Blog Host
03-23-2008, 04:57 PM Old
Confounded Profundity

The world I live in

is filled

with the constant promise

of poems –

be it a Japanese doll,

a Summer monsoon,

a cat-and-mouse-swirling-doomed-affair

every thing, all I see,

all I

hear, sense, feel, smell


is full with the potentiality

of poetry,

the promise of new


I gladly, gratefully,


the proffered offerings

from nature's own,

my paint-brush pen


at the ready,

ever poised to dip

into the rainbow palette

of all-around-me,

poised to write

the multi-colored words

that so confound,

that so profoundly

live in me

to give paper life

to the world of all-surround-me

in which I

profoundly live

(1st poem in "Painted Poems (Portraits of New Mexico)"
waterdragon waterdragon is offline
Honored Poet
03-23-2008, 05:00 PM Old
A Traveler's Journey (A Visit to the Quarai Mission Ruins)

I am a traveler

In a place beyond time

I speak the language of stone

And adobe,

Listen to the echoes of history

In roofless, melted walls

This is my journey

I am a traveler,

An earthbound melting misfit

Whispering in the language

Of leaves and lizards,

Of rustling cottonwood leaves,

Taking pictures with my mind


Is my journey

I am a traveler

Just passing through

On my way to somewhere,

Always on my way – on my way to

Else-where, to else-when, to else-wise

Even so, I tarry here

This is

My journey

I am a traveler,

A stranger from

Time beyond

To long ago

In this ghost-filled home

Of peace and contravening conflict

This is my


I am a traveler

Who sits cross-legged on the earth,

Alone with the ancients

Alone amongst shadows and sunshine,

Silence and grace

My heart and soul cry out in echo

This is my journey

(Last poem in "Painted Poems")
waterdragon waterdragon is offline
Honored Poet
03-23-2008, 05:02 PM Old
On Being a Dog

It's a dog's life, I hear –

At least, that's what they say,

But what in the world

Does it mean, anyway?

I never bark shins or up the wrong trees

I live for affection and just want to please

The humans who love me and tend to my needs

When their spirits are dragging

Or their energy's flagging,

I set my tail wagging

Whatever the case is,

I start licking their faces,

Invite hugs and embraces

Then they feel better and let me out for a run

I head for the river and have so much fun

Worries and problems? I ain't got a one

Once I'm back home, they're so glad to see me

(Sometimes, I think that they'd like to be me

For dogs don't get judged, we get to live freely)

To keep their regard,

I proudly keep guard

From my wire-fenced yard

I bark wildly of dangers

When I see passing strangers,

Even if they're Park Rangers

And it's only fair to

Howl in concerto

With my buddy Alberto

Who lives right next door –

We're dogs to the core –

Need I say more?

When the sirens scream by,

We point noses high

Shout and sing to the sky

And because I'm a canine,

If I spy a feline,

I make a quick bee-line

& while I usually miss,

To see them puff up and hiss

Just brings me such bliss

A dog's life?

Ain't nothin'

Any better

Than this!
waterdragon waterdragon is offline
Honored Poet
03-23-2008, 05:08 PM Old
The Gift of Choices

Hello, dear tumor,
my miracle, my gift

You're my crossroad to life
or a death that is swift

You're the real deal,
there's sure no denying

So which do I choose -
living well, or just dying?

I'll take Option A
on the menu of choices

Option B can only serve
to silence my voices

Who have so much to say
Yes, I choose life today
And for this, the whole universe rejoices!
waterdragon waterdragon is offline
Honored Poet
03-23-2008, 06:03 PM Old
Experiences in Greece, where I fell in love with Alexander, and at the Bosque del Apache NWR, where I volunteer, made this poem happen:

Alexander's Birds

Turning, turning, snow geese make a design
like a kaleidoscope
Greek for "sight of beautiful form."
Not turning, they line up
like a string of pearls in the turquoise sky.
Alexander had his seers read
bird behavior
and led his life and sometimes
saved it thereby.
Can we follow him and lead our lives
according to bird flight?
What meaning can we latter-day cynics
read in the graceful motions
of these incandescent shapes?
Only the lesson that we may cherish
beauty for its own sake.
Some things need not be good for something.

New Mexico Makeup

I used to wear face powder
blackened my brows and lashes
painted my lips to match
whatever latest style I wore.
Mauved or chartreused my lids,
glittered my ten perfect nails
on hands white and smooth.
Hair always neat and clean
till I moved to New Mexico.
Always wiping or blowing my nose,
powder won't stay.
Wind or pollen waters my smudged eyes.
I braid my hair and tack it down.
Polish deserts working nails
on hands scratchy and brown
from the endless
struggle with windblown sand and dust.
Makeup now comprises
chapstick, sunscreen,
and insect repellent.
brdubois brdubois is offline
Honored Poet
03-24-2008, 10:17 PM Old

Those who attend the NEW MOON POETRY FESTIVAL, in Socorro on Sunday, April 6th, are not only sure to hear moving poetry being read. Star Poets in the lineup have become renowned for their theatrical presentation styles as well as for their written words.

Recently named International Poet Fellow by Noble House, London, England, Rebecca Gile Hudson enchants with verse that takes us inside the minds of cats, dogs, children and mice. She is equally adept at crafting pieces that explore faith, being and meaning in the face of tragedy and loss. Gary Stewart Chorre, of partial Scottish lineage, is well known for his portrayals of Robert Burns. He brings the same riveting performance skills to the presentation of his own work. No boom boxes, shouting or writhing is needed; it's all done via command of language, voice and poetic expression.

In his new book: Echoes with a Western Air , George Forrest captures the nearly ineffable light and ether of the high desert as might have a master such as Eugene Manlove Rhodes. The volume also includes some of the author's, previously published, poetic character sketches. Blog favorite, Barbara Dubois, and poet Sal Treppiedi of Albuquerque, round out the featured lineup.

Open mic readings will begin at 1:00 p.m. at the Manzanares St. Coffeehouse, on the historic Socorro Plaza. Star and Featured readers will begin at 2:00 with a Celtic music jam to follow. At 4:00, more open mic readings will take place at the Capital Bar, also on the plaza. The event is sponsored by pen-gwen productions and by the Steppin' Out Poet's corner blog.
gair88 gair88 is offline
Poetry Blog Host
03-25-2008, 08:46 PM Old
I hope to have the opportunity to meet many of you at the forthcoming New Moon Poetry Festival. I am honored to be one of the featured performers and such great company. As a teaser towards that event, here is a piece I wrote several months ago.

Sal Treppiedi
Albuquerque, NM

P.S.: Keep your eyes open for my forthcoming debut book of poetry, "Random Thoughts of An Obese Mind."

The Little Known Danger of Pistachio Nuts
Unfortunately, A Very True Story

We were road tripping somewhere
outside of Austin, Texas, barren road
the antithesis of lively conversation

in between Red Bull wake-up calls,
homemade sandwiches of cold cuts, Swiss
cheese and cracking open pistachio nuts.

Cruise control, leaning my elbow on the
arm rest. I am required to do no thinking,
thus pay no attention to the speedometer

until...on the west side of the road
sits an officer with his Juggs Gun
pointed directly at my vehicle.

Did you see that cop? my wife asks.
Nonchalantly, yet now sitting up straight,
I reply that he was parked on the

other side of the road and wouldn't
waste his time to track me down.
She passes me a pistachio which

I begin to crack open when I notice
flashing light approaching fast.
You were speeding, my wife complains.

I wasn't watching the speedometer, I answer
as I panic figuring out what do I tell this guy.
Officer wearing mirrored shades gingerly

moves towards my window. Do you know
how fast you were going? in an accent as thick as
Texas barbecue sauce. I can explain, Officer.

I was cracking open a pistachio when
my wife cracked a joke and the shell
washed down my throat upon inhaling

causing me to choke. In my panicked state,
I depressed the gas pedal, speeding as I passed you.
I'm sorry, Officer. It was a total accident.

My wife is ready to bust a gut, and
I'm sure I heard a snot-distilling smirk
from outside. I showed him the culprit,

but it was to no avail. That story cost me
$200, ridicule for the next six months, and
a complete disdain for pistachio nuts.
Random Thoughts Random Thoughts is offline
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