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What is an Origami Poems Microchap?
Before You Go
Notice this light
filling in the empty spaces.
Notice the tracks in fresh snow
are not human, but
they are heading towards home.
Notice, the quiet has stopped here,
facing the cloudless sky,
simple as a room without furniture.
Notice: no one answers when called.
Experiences like this happen
without even trying, and then,
night wakes up, opens a door,
trying to catch up with those tracks
before they disappear into new snow,
before the woods enter into us.
Martin Willitts Jr © 2017
Martin is exceptional and exceptionally prolific. Search for him on Amazon and on his Bio page to learn more about his work.
Sandra is a child of Peace and Love
Sandra is five foot two.
Sandra is fierce, like Boadicea.
We are on our way to Knebworth in an old jiloppy,
my red hat is floppy and I’ve got sandals on
and we’ve got joss sticks in the van.
Joni Mitchell is playing in the park,
we’ve borrowed keith’s van and we’re off
to Knebworth for a lark.
Sandra works at Woolies - plastic roses care of Daz
decorate her hair. If you can remember Sandra in
the sixties you probably were not there .
Me – I’m a rebel in my leopard skin pill box hat
and Sandra – she’s a child of Peace and Love.
I’ve been selling Oz magazine in High Street again,
I’m a student, I’m a rebel, when they call at my
door – me mam’s packed me sandwiches,
I said I’ll be home by four – I’ve got a dahlia in my
hair – if you can remember me and Sandra –
you just so were not there –
me I’m a rebel, quintessential psychedelic,
and Sandra, she’s a child of peace and love.
Helen Burke © 2017
(Read the entire poem on Helen's OPP page)
Helen Burke is a prolific poet, artist, overall creative soul from the UK. Her latest major collection, today the birds will sing, is available from Valley Press UK and on Amazon.
each hilltop waved with flowered grasses
while sun coaxed music from bird and wind
nomad herdsmen, dogs, furred horses,
sheep, and goats, and sometimes cows
children play, long summer shadows,
berries hiding, lush on stems,
bees and butterflies, finding golden
pollen, for honey, and silk-thread cocoons
yurts move, felt walls easily folded,
easily patched if winds come peering through,
wooden framework guarding night dreams,
rugs for floor, clouds and clear skies above
lower down, farmers mow grass
food for herds’ long cold winter months
barns and houses have sturdy walls
but I would not trade them
for the stars and sun of summer hills
I used to count
steps as I ran
it drove me crazy
'til I began to carry an iPod
Now I count cars
that pass me
and dog walkers
and those only walking
I texted my
grandson one morning
with an animal count
one black-and-white dog
one brown, a rabbit and a deer
When I do my
I count reps of
my stretches but
that is normal, right?
Renee Butner © 2017
Most recently Renee Butner has been published in Piedmont Plus Senior Games, Jonah Magazine, Sheila-Na-Gig, Haiku Journal, and Failed Haiku and is a member of the NC Haiku Society and Winston-Salem Writers.
Visit her OPP bio page and her website: www.reneebutner.wordpress.com
We number our days
Tally the hours
Count down the miles
Love in unequal measures.
Seven ways to say
I love you. Seven more
I keep to myself.
Julia Klatt Singer © 2017
When not writing poetry, Julia Klatt Singer is the poet in residence at Grace Nursery School. – Learn more at her bio page here.
Until the day that all the stars collapse
upon themselves in clouds of light and dust
(or raise their fissile mushroom heads, perhaps),
as quantum physics proves what physics must—
Until on Earth the oceans split and flood
the poles as if old Moses bade them to,
and cities lie awash in salty blood—
I’ll bide my time and concentrate on you.
Apocalyptic visions slip and slouch
through history to leave us in their wake,
but not a damnéd one, in truth, can vouch
for Truth. Imagination fails. Forsake
the future, then, for this—the day we share
with atoms that bombard the very air!
Claude Clayton Smith © 2017
This is the second microchap collection by Claude Clayton Smith.
Several poems in this microchap are due the author's grateful acknowledgments (see microchap's back page).
Until, Nuclear Impact, Shabda Press anthology, 2017. 1st Place, American Aesthetic Sonnet Competition, 2016. Out of Sequence: The Sonnets.
What would I do
if you did not wait for me?
What would I do if
you became so bored
from waiting, you moved on
and now I had to search for you
among a crowd?
I found you, once.
I cannot let you get out of my sight.
I would be lost without you.
Martin Willitts Jr 2017
Martin Willitts Jr won the 2012 Big River Poetry Review’s William K. Hathaway Award ; 2013 Bill Holm Witness Poetry Contest; 2013 “Trees” Poetry Contest; 2014 Broadsided award; 2014 Dylan Thomas International Poetry Contest; and, Rattle Ekphrastic Challenge, June 2015, Editor’s Choice. See his OPP bio page for more of his microchaps or Amazon, etc.
Workout Diary: Day 70
There is a manly smell
as I enter the locker room.
It is the smell of trying
to get healthy.
It is the smell of
the inside of a shoe.
It is the smell of trying
not to die.
I'm not afraid
of that smell.
I am neither
attracted to it
nor am I repelled.
It is natural,
as I am.
This morning I awoke to a new
Nettie Farris © 2017
Nettie Farris is the author of Communion (Accents Publishing, 2013), Fat Crayons (Finishing Line Press, 2015), and The Wendy Bird Poems from dancing girl press.
A blue swallowtail wing
sails in the heat thermals
of the parking lot
a lost blue kite
with no harbor
or belonging anymore
‘the color of the clear sky’
Steve Leggett © 2017
We can mire ourselves in war.
We delight in our small mirth,
but our feet still pace like ants
on the lithic face of our Earth.
Catherine Zickgraf has performed her poetry in Madrid, San Juan, and three dozen other cities. Her work has appeared in Journal of the American Medical Association, Pank, Victorian Violet Press, and The Grief Diaries. Her new chapbook, 'Soul Full of Eye,' is published through Aldrich Press and is available on Amazon.com.
He let his promises fall from the edge
of the bridge,
bright young things as wild as unbroken horses.
As rare as a snowdrops that last the summer
or double-headed coins.
With his thoughts packed in salt in his head
he watched each promise pass under the arch
and emerge after the thaw as a future truth.
Winston Plowes © 2017
Football – the Religion (partial)
No, its more than that.
I believe in the One Goal – maker and creator
Of Happiness and the Joyful Long Walk Home.
I believe in the Holy Relic of Sunday morning
Playing with the Lads down the Big Tip and the Offy.
Beer for two and a six a pint.
I believe in
The name of the Manager, the ref and the Newly Signed
Whizz-Kid . For ever now and Always Will Be
I believe in being over the moon as sick as a parrot.
All in the same minute
I believe in the truth never being told.
I believe in
The Religion that is Football.
In The Cheap Seats
The slow ascent
of the soft pop-up
the lazy parabola
of the easy out
precedes the sharp
crack of the bat.
Charcoal smudges define
the horizon as Lake Erie fades
into the sky. November has passed,
left nothing but scattered mounds
of dirty snow and its signature
bite in the wind. The year's last birds
skitter over sand, prepare
for flight. The parking lot is empty.
Robert Beveridge 2017
His recent/upcoming appearances in Wildflower Muse, Noble/Gas Qtrly, and The Ibis Head Review, among others.
Cover: Muses Syroco wall hanging
I want my poems
soft and ragged
in simple print
for you to read
when I am gone.
Claude Clayton Smith © 2017
Slipping gently though time’s crevice
Like thousands of tiny pearls
Broken free from a neck string
Bouncing off in vain
Some never to be seen
Some never to be found.
I know we've arrived home
by the pine scent, and you
almost smile as we climb
from the car, say
“it smells so good
here.” I agree, notice
how thin your face looks now,
and how your jeans used to be
much fuller. We've had
a severe year, without pause
in the trenches, and I can feel
the strain in your teeth and shoulders:
those shoulders your parents
taught to hide from confrontation.
You need three days
to relax, after countless doses
of forest medicine, administered
one dropper at a time.
- Leah Mueller © 2017
Independent writer from Tacoma, WA, Leah was a featured poet at the 2015 New York Poetry Festival.
just outside the periphery of your ambiguity,
and left sensations of flesh,
bone and breathing unrealized,
and thus mere flickers of a candle flame.
Could've distanced myself
from this inextinguishable fire;
would've escaped the irreversible fall...
But the tightrope I was walking
had been teetering to begin with --
noun sloughing off its adjective.
Poems featured in CAST have previously appeared in personal blogs.
THE FULLNESS OF SUMMER
The joy of inner peace—
like fathoming ocean.
We are years of light
from the soul of the sun.
The joy of inner peace—
Through Heaven’s Evening,
Journeying On Years Of Future Ideas,
Night Narrows Every Road,
Pauses Every Aching Current’s Electricity.
to a bulletin board. From the Wordles, I found origami poems." Doug Norris
The liquid’s modest shade of brown
Intensifies any rich mahogany
Flesh that handles it.
The amber-colored tea streaming into
My mug gives glory to the deep copper-
Hued hand pouring it. Set against the
Subtle brown tinge of the tea,
The waiter’s hand and forearm look
Like sublime pottery,
His rich brown hue—earthen, pure—
Outdoing the light stream of chai he pours
Into my cup.
Ethar Hamid © 2016
had been a Texan
he might have picked
this live oak, older
than the Republic,
have sat right under
the missing limb,
others reaching out
What he might have
known as nirvana
through chigger bite
itching is a koan
ripe for meditation.
Chip Dameron © 2016
Ana Prudaru, ayaz daryl Nielsen, Bill Sullivan, Bob Carlton, Bradley McIlwain, Chip Dameron,
Christina Sng, Daniel Blokh, Donald C. Welch III, Ethar Hamid, Garrett Phelan, Helen Burke,
I love your philosophy and making of tiny books. I was also tickled to see one of my painting on the bar of books when I went to your website. (The girl on the cover of Alex Stolis's book). Thank you for considering my work.
When I'm not writing poetry, I'm the poet in residence at Grace Nursery School. Yes, that's right, I write poetry with 3 to 5 year-olds. (They write it, I just put the words down for them). And I work as a visiting writer in the schools through Compas. I've had two books of poetry, a chapbook and a set of short stories published. (A Tangled Path to Heaven and Untranslatable by North Star Press, In the Dreamed of Places, by Naissance Press, and 12 Branches: Stories from St. Paul, by Coffee House Press.)
And now I'm about to walk my dog, Otis. He'll be happy about that.
Julia Klatt Singer
I would like to make sure that it is okay for us to use the PDF printables and hold a "pay it forward" in the library. So, our teens would fold the PDF's that we print off and pass them out to customers or leave them in the 800's poetry stacks for customers to take at will. Thank you for the fabulous site and inspiration!
Sincerely, Christy M., Information Services Specialist
Columbus Metropolitan Library, Whitehall, OH
Received ten copies, all in a first class letter, and I am beyond delighted - will share my copies, including one to a Colorado poet/good friend with end-stage cancer (knowing he’ll love it). Well done, Jan Keough and The Editors, well done, indeed. Check 'em out, your poems could help change the world one micro-chapbook at a time!
Wendles' Cafe & Deli, Franconia NH (seasonal) Display provided by Mary Ann Mayer
|• Poets' group in Lincoln, NB||• Wildflour Artisan Bakery & Cafe, Decatur, IL|
|• Cafe 164 at Leeds Gallery & at Cafe in York, UK||• Self-stocked libraries in RI|
♦ Due to the widening perimeter of the Origami Poems Project we are hard pressed to replenish the many locations that have previously visited the (primarily) RI locations. We are happy to send a sampling of chapbooks for a display but cannot "stock" them on an ongoing basis. We are grateful for your understanding. If you wish to volunteer to support a location, please ask... origamipoems(at)gmail(dot)com ♦
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