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 Oct 2016
David Adamson
Dear David:

We are deeply gratified that you gave us the opportunity
to read your poems.  Notice that we say “opportunity”
rather than “submission,” for truly you graced us with works
of such enduring power, so sublime, so transcendent,
that our humble words scarce can adequately praise
the sacred privilege of reading them.

Seldom, no, never has human experience been so distilled,
so purified, so exalted, yet so exposed
in all its paradox, its shades and sunbursts,
shouts and silences, the hiding places redolent of inner light,
as in these timeless works.  

A calm breeze from the desert’s edge at dusk,
the chatter of a mockingbird at dawn,
the rumble and crash of a hidden waterfall,
the laughter of a child unseen in a cool wood’s shade,
emanate so intensely from the shapes of these letters
that our faith in the power of language to evoke reality
has been nourished and restored to its proper place.

However, we regret to inform you
that your poems do not meet our needs at this time,
which are for relevant poems for the upcoming
theme issue on Hammer Toes.

We hope you will consider us for future opportunities.

Sincerely,

The editors of ******* Quarterly
Have been collecting a lot of rejection letters lately.  Here's my interpretation.
 Oct 2016
Valsa George
A weaver of words in deep quiet reflects
In his mind’s prism, many a thought deflects
Within him the rainbow colours of passion rage
      He scripts songs of beauty and rhyme on page after page

      He has no magic, neither erudite nor clever
But hungry souls, his poems avidly devour
Stirring their hearts as wind on whispering leaves
And each line, some alluring fancy weaves

As from pen to paper his fancies flow
In a lingua that has an unusual glow
Though a great epic may not be born
His songs move even hearts of flint n’ stone

He sings the paeans of love and life
Of men in cross roads of toil and strife
He awakens dead worlds long forgotten
Taking us to magic lands never trodden

      His songs have echoes of a heavenly rhapsody
Drowning the Earth in flooding melody
Fuelling hearts with thoughts one cannot name
Spawning tempestuous passions one cannot tame
 Oct 2016
Mike Adam
Child
*****
Fool and
Wise

Hello poets
 Oct 2016
Sjr1000
Of all the places
she sought to hide
She only found one
safe place inside
in dancing images
where the poetry
resides.
 Oct 2016
Andrew Lees
Eyes left wide, for
Now I've seen
The vanguard of my fevered dreams and

Jungle cats pace in my brain.
Paws alight, their
Claws aflame

And sinews
Incandescent white--
Seamless, green, their glowing eyes

Constellate where shadows heap.
Enough! My skull,
The marrow creaks...

What hells we weave
Through. Bitter dreams,
Awake, asleep or caught between.
One of my favourite forms is triplets, with a syllable count of 4/4/8 (or thereabouts). In this piece, I tried inverting every second stanza: 4/4/8, 8/4/4 et al. I think the inversion worked, it provides a nice visual and metric link between each stanza and lends the piece improved flow. It's a worthwhile device I'll definitely be exploring further in upcoming pieces.
 Oct 2016
Seer of All Good
Now
I've
waited
15
years
for
now,
I
can
wait
a
bit
longer
If you have lived this long for now, I believe, you can make it through anything.
 Oct 2016
Àŧùl
I am me,
And she's my role,
So she's as excellent as me myself,
But she's beautiful,
I am not.


Her poses possess a demeanour,
And she says a lot,
Silently,
But I listen to it all,
She just wonders how do I know.


She is now my bestest friend ever,
And of course the most gorgeous,
Can not be any easier to conclude,
Because she is simply a class apart,
She is a real motivator & practical.
Both Bhumika & I have our equation straight as the best of friends.
She is such a deserving young woman who exudes an infectious enthusiasm to achieve something.
I don't feel shy in saying that seeing her focus I feel encouraged to follow my career as well.

She has changed a lot and improvement is visible in her original poetry.

HP Poem #1175
©Atul Kaushal
 Oct 2016
Leaetta May
how does one follow a poet?
the morning tea/coffee/***** in hand
pepsi too if you're young and GRAND

setting down at desk/table or floor
settling in to your favorite nook
PC laptop or notebook

you go home to see who's up
you read and read
and never give up

there's sadnes, anger
and heartbreak galore
laughter and so much more

wisdom and something
that gives you pause
wows uhuhs and applause

you find your favorites
and undiscovered gems
poets all true to the end

the craft is your own
the voyage to find
just who it is controlling your mind
 Oct 2016
phil roberts
I have this virus in my head
And it's called
Thought
It's a wildly infectious virus
Which can be spread by
No more than words
Whether written or spoken
Thought can spread this way
Like an epidemic
But fear not, dear reader
It doesn't seem too widespread yet

                                             By Phil Roberts
 Oct 2016
Ramin Ara
What a blessing
To decamp
From the body
And reside
In the spirit
 Oct 2016
nivek
there once was a great American tennis player(still alive and kicking)
who summed it up just fine, "You cannot be serious"
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