Submitted by Lori R. Lopez on Tue, 02/16/2010 - 1:12pm
I'm writing this poem on the birthday of a friend. She knows who she is so I don't have to pretend. It's one of those things that you can't say enough: "Thanks for being there; I'm sorry it's been rough."
I'm writing this poem for someone in particular. If the words speak to you, then that's . . . specticular? (I hope you'll forgive a few bad rhymes. You have to admit, it's not the worst of crimes.)
Submitted by Lori R. Lopez on Mon, 01/11/2010 - 8:54pm
There are lighter topics I could choose, yet I find myself able only to speak from the heart. A heart that beats too loud, too strong, too fast at times. Or thuds faintly, wounded and gasping. A heart that is too often betrayed in this world, that bleeds too easily.
Submitted by Lori R. Lopez on Fri, 12/11/2009 - 5:00pm
I have managed to avoid most addictions along my journey, yet I must confess here and now that I am hopelessly — helplessly — haplessly (take your pick) passionate about words. There, I've said it. Spilled my guts all over this page. I feel less burdened by the dark dire secret I have carried for too long.
'Tis no laughing matter, but a rare and serious cravence that affects the odd bibliophilic scrivener once in a purple moon.
Submitted by Lori R. Lopez on Fri, 11/06/2009 - 4:36pm
The mood strikes to write in a peculiar manner. To speak of that which cannot be described except by the bizarrest-meaning terms. To stretch vernaculars like putty, craft the craftiest of hodgepodged whimmeries, then skip off merrily through the leavenings of Fall like a bansheed fairy!
Thus we have the following, the result of all this "linguistic linguini" — to quote Volume One of my lifestory — a poem about the sheer oddity of it all. Whatever "it" might be. So, without further t'ado . . .
Submitted by Lori R. Lopez on Tue, 10/13/2009 - 6:23pm
Did I spell it wrong, as in "Halloween"? Or "Hollowing", as to carve a pumpkin's snaggled grin? Let me rub my chin and contemplate. Nay, I think the word should be this way.
Submitted by Lori R. Lopez on Tue, 09/08/2009 - 4:43pm
Another month, another poem. When all is said and done, as I look back on my achievements — and lacks thereof; the list of unfinished goals — this column is one thing I will not regret. It reminds me to exercise my love of verse. To spare some minutes for a cherished pursuit. I have too long forsaken my songwriting passion. Too easily ignored other beloved penchants, the dreams and druthers that shape who I am. It is these glaring omissions that plague me most as Time courses too swiftly past.