"
It was cold out today, but luckily the sun was shining.
It was cold out today, but inside my heart was warm.
It felt good, the light from the sun and the warmth in my heart.
Then I realized; I love the sun and I’m in love.
That’s where the warmth came from. From the love, not the sun…
Because it’s still winter outside, as I walk on this cold day.
"
In love in the sunshine,
by Wenche M. Hætta
My impatiens died.
Fraught with compression. Lovely.
I worked for two days on that poem.
Perhaps I should submit it to Right Hand Pointing.
Five syllables…you’ve got one-third of a haiku, there. Work in another five and seven, plug in a seasonal reference, and bingo.
I’m done with it. 
KAC
This puts me in mind of one I wrote years ago, before I ever met the girl who became my wife:
“The Edge”
I stand alone in a dark room with a stranger.
In her small hands she holds a flower or a razor–
I can’t tell which–to learn the answer
I bare my throat and close my eyes
And try to feel the hope and not the danger.
–James
Just don’t send any fiction. The fiction editor is a real SOB.
Since a thread about poetry was started by someone named Cork, and since there is a limerick thread nearby, this is the perfect time to drag out this little pome thang I did a couple of years ago. Unfortunately, it’s likely to be nipped by the mods, for which I forgive them in advance and apologize.
The good folks in County Cork
want only to have a form of
humorous poetry named
after them, just like
‘those bastards in County Limerick,’
but so far their attempts
have…
well…
failed.
Like this:
One day a woman named McKelly said,
“I’d rather have an asshole for a head,
And I’d rather be a witch
Than a County Limerick bitch,”
Then she promptly sat face first upon the bed.
So they continue
toiling at the bulletin board factory
the wine bottle stopper plant,
the fishing bobber assembly line,
while the Limerickonians,
smugly make up rhymes
for the word ‘loser.’