30 Poems in 30 Days

Have you ever wanted to try writing poetry? Join in this event writing 30 poems in 30 days and watch your poetry prowess emerge.


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1944

when I finally got the letter
I already knew

your silence had told me
you were gone

in the radio they said
our troops were holding out

that was as unbelievable
as the letter

the day I got it
the child was sick

I traded a book for some milk
almost my last one

our room was cold
the sky too dark for sewing

in our bed
I tried to keep the child warm

with a body aching for you
with every cell

only my tears went
missing with you


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hear then

Well here then –
Sweeping and he says:
We’re made of sound, in motion
put sand on a metal plate
send sound through and see:
shapes of turtle shells, leaves
the spiralling arms of galaxies

So what’s the sound that courses through you?
Can it move to me?
How do our sounds relate, harmonize, dischord?
What’s the sound of grief?

Tears, yes, sometimes
Anger, fear
A soft out breath
And their breath too – the too shallow, too slow, too soft, too deep

That grief can move through – grow, shrink, scream, laugh, cry

We came together in song
and to move in time, and out
If my sound is yours, who’s to carry it –
is it ours together, or just mine?

Please say more, please share the raw and tender
Without that: one sound alone, searching, waiting.


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The last word

four women poets around a table:
published, put up in hotels,
paid to read tonight,
and no end to the sorting,
sifting, shuffling of notes,
deciding, reordering,
flipping through slim books
prickled with sticky markers,
catching loose pages almost sailing away
and revealing penciled edits
on the printed pages

see, even when published, it’s not always
the last word

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