New York Pitch Conference Reviews, Algonkian Writer Conferences, and Poetry Forums

I changed blabbering to blathering in last line.

I like the poem, especially the way it ends. I was a little confused in the first few lines, when I didn't immediately realize who were the balloon and zeppelin. I think the mixture of him swimming above you and the whale made it just a little confusing, but I will read again. Maybe I just didn't ap...

The Sound of Joy, a great album and song by Sun Ra.

I second Bob' poem and Meena's poem and Siva's.

I have to pull this poem. I nominate Siva's poem Mother in Her Old Age, if she can explain to me the "3" in the title and the line "3 sixty five". Is that supposed to mean three hundred sixty five days.

Thanks for reading and commenting Frank. Your contribution is as valuable as anyone else's.

Michael, I misinterpreted your statement about the baby. I thought you were saying the ultrasound was of a baby. Frank, what more clue does one need than the title, Echocardiograms, definition--"a test of the action of the heart using ultrasound waves to produce a visual display, used for the diagno...

Thanks all. Actually, an echocardiogram is an ultrasound video of the heart. I'm keeping "pathetic" as it is N's description of his heart when viewing the echocardiogram. The flaps popping open are the valves of the heart, The bagpipe is the heart. Just look at a bagpipe. Oh well, I guess it needs t...

I didn't say I liked the poem to be kind. When I read this poem and recently the dog bowl poem, I immediately sensed a good poem, a poem that was complete in its purpose and it was like reading some well-known poets I like. There was a feeling in me when reading your poem of real life, of being ther...

This is an old poem. I guess it still doesn't work.

This is brilliant. Don't change a thing.

Echocardiogram A talking skull from a black and white Looney Tune dances on screen, jack-in-the-box flaps popping open with the mechanical spasticity of a windup monkey band. Little bagpipe grunts and strains. I'm not awed by the miracle of life, swishing and gurgling like a Maytag washer from the ...

Thanks Frank, for commenting. Will take into consideration your suggestions. The poem does need expanding.

From Borinage To Arles Dog-eared pages smudged by dark whorls. Hell stars. Soot coats the houses. Candles like third eyes. Ants crawl out of the earth. Black-faced miners. Women clutch babies and Bibles. Broods of hungry imps prepare for their rite of passage. Caged yellow angels reckon the days. I...

Congratulations, Frank!

Haiku isn't just something one does--except by luck possibly--in a first time try. It can take years to really begin to master the form.

Frank, I think you better google haiku. There is a lot that has changed since the 50's and 60's. I've been trying to master haiku and tanka and senyru for about 5 to 6 years now. I am friends with and write haiku with some of the most well known haiku writers in America. Yes, there are a few people ...

I wrote this one a couple of years ago:


a skunk
stops to smell
the roses

Thanks Frank and the Block.

Yay, Siva, great poem!

This is my original work, has not been published, and I'm not representing any other board. Billy Howell-Sinnard bhowellsinnard@gmail.com Saying the Unsayable Hands clasped behind his head, he says something I can't understand. Morphine mixes words in a slow gooey concoction soothing his pain, blurr...

Thanks, Siva, I probably won't be around much, if at all, for a few months. I need to devote some time to my marriage and my spiritual life. If a poem just has to come out, I'll post it, but won't be trying to write poems for a while.

Thanks, another surprise.

Saying the Unsayable Hands clasped behind his head, he says something I can't understand. Morphine mixes words in a slow gooey concoction soothing his pain, blurring the days that are left, the whys ungraspable. The dog has gotten outside. He struggles to remember her name. "She'll be run over like...

This is my original work, unpublished. I am not representing any other board. Billy Howell-Sinnard bhowellsinnard@gmail.com In Perpetuity After the mourners have left. The cemetery empty. Vernon and I remove the flowers, the green plush cover hiding the gears and metal of the lowering mechanism. Thr...