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Printed from https://writing.com/main/newsletters/action/archives/id/9154-Make-breath.html
Poetry: October 03, 2018 Issue [#9154]




 This week: Make breath
  Edited by: Fyn Author IconMail Icon
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Table of Contents

1. About this Newsletter
2. A Word from our Sponsor
3. Letter from the Editor
4. Editor's Picks
5. A Word from Writing.Com
6. Ask & Answer
7. Removal instructions

About This Newsletter

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. ~~ Robert Frost

Poetry is simply the most beautiful, impressive, and widely effective mode of saying things. ~~ Matthew Arnold

A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. ~~ Robert Frost

Listen, real poetry doesn't say anything; it just ticks off the possibilities.
Opens all doors. You can walk through any one that suits you.~~Jim Morrison

Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it. ~~ Percy Bysshe Shelley


Word from our sponsor



Letter from the editor

I devoured a poem today. Some, I have sipped and let words swirl around my mind. Today, I inhaled as one would the scent of wood smoke on the morning breeze, or bacon or even that sweet, sassy smell of cotton candy. That explosion of a first bite of summer-fresh watermelon. I wasn't dainty, I didn't nibble a synonym here, a metaphor there - no, I, as if starving, manners flung to the wayside, dove in, swallowed whole and chewed with my mouth open. Words flavored with exotic spices melded with phrases born from a secret heart. I licked the page clean, left no crumb unread, no crusted word uneaten.


This. This is what a poem should do. Even as it is consumed, it should consume the reader. Then, I went back for seconds, needing, wanting the more of it. I needed to savor the layered nuances, let phrasings slide along my tongue, hear the words take flight and watch them dance across the ceiling. And yet, once again, the refrain of it touching some misplaced corner in my mind I hadn't known I'd lost and bringing it, dusty out into the light; the poem polishing it bright again.

The poet, an evolving creature, has phoenix wings and a child's soul. With words that caress, and others carrying the force of a breached dam, she sees her words physically, plays with them and sets them free to entangle in our emotions, pull at heartstrings or snap one's attention front and center.


Aspirations; this is the type of writing any poet covets, strives for, as then chase down that elusive combination that perfectly expresses the thought, emotion, need, desire or answer. Reading the words made my heart smile, ran rampant, resurfacing throughout my day -- catching me off-guard and surprising me once again. It was a really good day!


Editor's Picks


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#2065770 by Not Available.



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#2126405 by Not Available.


STATIC
My Blood Runs Cold Open in new Window. (18+)
A dark being's response to betrayal.
#2052799 by Ẃeβ࿚ẂỉԎḈĥ Author IconMail Icon


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#1380981 by Not Available.


See Me, Hear Me, Feel Me Open in new Window. (13+)
A poem about poverty
#2075565 by Mari McKee Author IconMail Icon


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#2159803 by Not Available.


 
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Dragon of Despair Open in new Window. (ASR)
Battling an insidious dragon
#2149385 by 🌻 thankful pwheeler nanoing Author IconMail Icon

 
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Word from Writing.Com

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Ask & Answer

erbiage Author IconMail Icon says: Thanks for this, really brings me back. I spent several seasons performing at a renn faire in New Jersey

Monty Author IconMail Icon writes:A fine News Letter wit some great choices highlighted.

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