Alternative Names for the Daily Newspaper

  1. smudged inked fingers, with coffee and scones
  2. echoed shouts of rolling machines in motion
  3. camera lens clickclickclickclickclicking
  4. question/answer question/answer question/
  5. crumpled thin paper fire starter
  6. Relic, yet reliable
  7. Tipping on the balance beam, daily
  8. The space where death goes to be noticed and remembered
  9. Paneled fun space art show gallery
  10. Help Wanted: A daily document to connect the community

for #openwrite

inspired by

Hiding Myself in Annotation (An Experimental Poem)

One: See #2

Two: Where a part of me might linger in a poet's notes, the other ghosts to

Three: See #5

Four: You notice I'd crouching not revealing much, in order to hide to

Five: In public spheres, where one so easily disappears, I am barely these words as you think you know me here

Six: See #3 then step to #8

Seven: I am Kevin. That much is truth.

Eight: I am writer power poet teacher preacher songwriting go it alone leaping forward like skipping stone to #10

Nine: See what I did there? Gave just enough verse to completely disappear from here, and then hit the poem upon reverse

Ten: Back to #7

for #openwrite

Whose woods these are I may no longer know as my shoes dip heavy through new-fallen snow

The dog's beyond me, on the trail of a scent as I follow her tracks, in silence, seemingly sent

from somewhere above; trees grabbing midwinter sky as I hike through the gap between the ground, and I

for #openwrite with hat nod to Robert Frost (of course)

Let's meet somewhere in the music

in the space between the staves and sound vibrations of the treble clef

Let's meet somewhere where chords connect, where your notes complement mine

in the rhythm of the movement of the signature of the time

Let's meet somewhere at the start,

and then let's meet again at the end:

this joyous singing heart

for #openwrite


Feel free, she told me, to remember me, as tree,

to see me rooted in dirt, the unsettled place where love clings to hurt

So I sung her song - I still sing her song - so I would never forget,

for why make a sonnet, queries the poet of rules, when lines break beautiful, into songlet?

for #openwrite

Scars show healing, too, knife lines tracing wounded worlds, places of exposure in which fingers brush up against the past, the skin always sharing stories, with jagged imperfections etched deep inside the heart

for #openwrite

Awake, when sleep departs, listening to rhythms of night, the landscape inscrutable but for some small melody still yet lingering: mere gossamer and translucence and then gone

for #openwrite

There was a time when the crowd hushed, when all of our eyes watched the ball flung into motion

with such beautiful flight, its shape slightly wobbled in the air flow imbalance of impossibility

It's that breath before that I remember the most, the beauty of the possibility of perfect reception,

and not the drop, when the world stopped, and the magic of the moment, broken open

for #openwrite

What is hope

but a rope for which to climb

a chance to take our time

a moment in which we find

something within us that brings us together

for #openwrite and #clmooc

The shelves have become barren of those silly cards, those throw-away phrases that always tried so hard to make us laugh, in aisles of the grocery store and boutique shops and kiosks in the mall, manufactured thanks spit out by cold machines, while I'm still one of those few who settles down in the quiet, pen in hand, to carve out poems from the bones of memory, a crinkled paper-cut of words tucked into the folds of your jacket pocket

for #openwrite