footprints on my chest


The visible and the in-

by Marge Piercy

Some people move through your life

like the perfume of peonies, heavy

and sensual and lingering.

Some people move through your life

like the sweet musky scent of cosmos

delicate if you sniff twice, it’s gone.

Some people occupy your life

like moving men who cart off

couches, pianos and break dishes.

Some people touch you so lightly you

are not sure it happened. Others leave

you flat with footprints on your chest.

Some are like those fall warblers

you can’t tell from each other even

though you search Petersen’s.Some come down hard on you like

a striking falcon and the scars remain

and you are forever wary of the sky.We all are waiting rooms at bus

stations where hundreds have passed

through unnoticed and others

have almost burned us down

and others have left us clean and new

and others have just moved in.
“The visible and the in-” from MADE IN DETROIT by Marge Piercy. Published by Alfred A. Knopf. Copyright © 2015 by Marge Piercy. Used by permission of The Wallace Literary Agency, a division of Robin Straus Agency, Inc.


Neil Waldman

illustrator Neil Waldman


by Andrew Gent

Every poem has been written before
at least fifteen times.
Every song
sung better.

The Neanderthals discovered caves
already painted with the story of their lives.
They invented fire
over and over again.

And you & I
whisper the same sweet nothings
we were born with.

“History” by Andrew Gent from Explicit Lyrics. © The University of Arkansas Press, 2016.


This is my color rendering of Fibonacci's math formula

This is my color rendering of Fibonacci’s math formula

And here is Joy Acey’s Fibonacci poem:
My dog
likes to bark.
Round and round she turns
then settles on the rug to sleep.

Today’s poem is a FIB–a poem based on Fibonacci’s number. Try writing your own FIB today.

Poem to a Stranger

I dreamed
you moved into my house,
a stranger,
with all your prescriptions,
favorite chair,
all your needs.

There were 60 more,
just like you.

My house was occupied.
My car

All my personal space.

I stopped breathing…
Afraid to share.

Then my first floor flooded.
We rescued each other.
All of us
treading water.


This is a video poem.
It shows balancing to accommodate others; large, small, and bumpy.
Moments to explore and acknowledge others


June’s Poem:


Seems like
boiling greens
sloughs off essence
of spring:
organic orgasm!

Jeanne Poland
All rights

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