Different Differences

Dusty Differences By Elizabeth Cutright The dusty grime of city streets Secret alleyways Twisting lanes and Cobblestones wet with rain. A nostalgia for what never-was The never-meant-to-be. The “yeah whatever.” What do I know… It’s another life Possible and not, Sometimes hard to tell the difference between the differences. (May 24, 2012)   All Content […]

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Constructed Realities

The Garden By Elizabeth Cutright I’ve built myself a garden, and on the surface it’s quite beautiful (as you can plainly see) I think the ivy covers the wall quite nicely – don’t you? If you look closer you’ll see the flowers are made of paper (and you thought I had no skill) Nevertheless I […]

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In Remembrance

To Me, You Will Always Be (for CH, who lost Doc on 01/01/1999) By Elizabeth Cutright To me, you will always be… running after rocks, and chasing your own tail; that goofy smile across your face, pawing me in a muddy embrace. To me, you will always be… the one that was up for anything […]

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When I grow up…

I’d like to be a poet… By Elizabeth Cutright I want to be a beatnik Finger snaps and a black beret. Have words fall down around me, Ask Kerouac out to play. I want to be a rebel Full of passions and a cause. Words like knives through bullshit. Ask Amira to give me a […]

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Playing with Sound

Orchestra for Spring By Elizabeth Cutright The loon’s song wafts And the plane engines rumble. Hammers yell in the distance, While jazz sneaks out an open window. Bamboo rustles with the breeze. A dog’s bark fades in and out. Crows and seagulls argue, And the church bells begin to chime. The cat’s muffled footfalls Stir […]

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Fight your fear of poetry.

Pebble In My Shoe By Elizabeth Cutright Well, I guess you’ve now become, a little pebble in my shoe. So you’d think that every step I take, would bring me images of you. I admit, sometimes you surround me. When it’s quiet, I might hear your voice. But the pinch and the ache grow familiar, […]

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Poetry as Inspiration

Writing Exercise – read a poem, then just free associate on its themes and imagery. Original Poem: What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII) by Edna St. Vincent Millay What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till […]

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