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	<title>Getting Something Read</title>
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		<title>The Breath of Poetry</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/the-breath-of-poetry/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/the-breath-of-poetry/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 20 May 2013 03:38:29 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Michal Mahgerefteh]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1113</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Michal Mahgerefteh The infinite vastness of words flew in tiny particles, and with a single stroke swallowed me whole.]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/the-breath-of-poetry/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>October</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/october/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/october/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 17 May 2013 01:31:37 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Hostovsky</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Paul Hostovsky]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1005</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Paul Hostovsky Everybody called him Toby, though his real name was October, though nobody knew that except the teacher who assured him his secret was safe with her that first day in September, when he came in early, before any of the other kids and introduced himself to her, and told her about his [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/october/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Gust of Wind</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/the-gust-of-wind/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/the-gust-of-wind/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 14 May 2013 01:12:12 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1576</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by JosephMilosch Spring rose clean as birches during my last leap year home. For the past ten years, I spent winter afternoons on this lake. Soon I’d be the first to graduate, but this evening I skated with my hockey stick and some primitive rhythm composed for blade and tin. I shot the puck, an [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/the-gust-of-wind/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Waking in a Cabin</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/waking-in-a-cabin/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/waking-in-a-cabin/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 10 May 2013 23:41:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/waking-in-a-cabin/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph Milosch Waking in a cabin built for a John Wayne western, I listen to the wind blowing through the westerly window. I think of the beauty nature has passed from century to century. Walking past the movie cabins, I buy coffee and hike the Lake Shore trail. Nothing appears in the westerly sky. [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/waking-in-a-cabin/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Spare Rain</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/spare-rain/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/spare-rain/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 07 May 2013 21:27:17 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Diane Payne]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/04/spare-rain/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Diane Payne People ducking beneath wet umbrellas, avoiding the woman&#8217;s hand reaching out from the window ledge. &#8220;Spare change?&#8221; she asks to no one in particular. &#8220;Spare rain?&#8221; a man laughs running to his car, giving the woman one last look before crawling into the driver&#8217;s seat, while the woman remains crouched, filling her [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Beauty</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/beauty/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/beauty/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 04 May 2013 18:07:28 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dretta Grace White]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=887</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Dretta Grace White Beauty For a time Seemed Like a promise broken An outstretched hand Suddenly severed At the wrist It wasn&#8217;t true The hand Withdrew]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/beauty/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>My Twin Planet Is Saturn.</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/my-twin-planet-is-saturn/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/my-twin-planet-is-saturn/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 02 May 2013 02:21:47 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1711</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph Milosch My twin planet is Saturn. As we follow our orbits, we are enclosed by rings of historic debris. A cartoonist would portray us walking in a dust cloud like Shultz depicted Pig Pen. Saturn’s rings are composed from random collisions of asteroids. My debris comes from random encounters with comrades like Smitty, [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/my-twin-planet-is-saturn/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Why I Feel How I Do</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/why-i-feel-how-i-do/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/why-i-feel-how-i-do/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 May 2013 15:44:53 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Howie Good]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=896</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Howie Good Because day by day I am less real Because the cemetery half-listens Because the mirror mutters too Because stranded here for now Because the sky is everyone&#8217;s Because though poorly patched in places and attracted to the form of a mountain Because like an accidental gunshot Because she says it isn&#8217;t raining [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/why-i-feel-how-i-do/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Lessons Found, Part III.</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/lessons-found-part-iii/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/lessons-found-part-iii/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 01 May 2013 04:25:51 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Neal Whitman</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Features]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Neal Whitman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry Prof.]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1665</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Neal Whitman, Poetry Prof In March and April, we turned to two poems by Robinson Jeffers, “To the Stone-Cutters” and “Hands” and found the lesson that nothing we do as individuals or collectively will last forever. But, we left off with the thought that perhaps that does not mean we should not put all [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/lessons-found-part-iii/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>What Does A Man Do</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/what-does-a-man-do/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/what-does-a-man-do/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 28 Apr 2013 14:19:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1466</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Joseph Milosch As a young man in the seminary, Father Martin asked us to meditate on this question, What does a man do when he’s alone with his aloneness? At seventeen I felt so alone I was embarrassed to say: Because I can’t sleep, I walked through the maples every morning between 3:30 and [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/what-does-a-man-do/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>And home is gone</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/home-is-gone/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/home-is-gone/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 25 Apr 2013 12:01:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dretta Grace White]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=191</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Dretta Grace White And home is gone And the smooth White stones We walked along Harmony&#8217;s transfigured To offend and blend into Darkest blackest shade As if the light we shared Were never made Listen to: And Home Is Gone]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/home-is-gone/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Investigation</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/investigation/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/investigation/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 22 Apr 2013 10:44:58 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1458</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph Milosch The clues were indiscernible: the coffee pot sprung a leak after forty years: someone placed a half of a chicken’s egg shell under the bottle bush: Someone saw a crow steel it: a squirrel took a bite out of a fallen guava: the wind blew litter into the curb, and a California [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/investigation/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Blaze of Red</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/blaze-of-red/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/blaze-of-red/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 19 Apr 2013 08:26:46 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/blaze-of-red/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph Milosch One spring my dad found his hammer in the mud by our fence. He had me clean it with steel wool and light oil. I remembered the day he taught me to miter bridging for floor joists. We spoke of his days as a musician. One Thanksgiving it was so cold the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/blaze-of-red/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Third Equinox #2</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/third-equinox-2/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/third-equinox-2/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Apr 2013 08:01:48 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[John Dutterer]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=646</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by John Dutterer In from the window: fallen leaf looks like a decaying sturgeon sinking in the clear lake of the air]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/third-equinox-2/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Metaphor</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/metaphor/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/metaphor/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 10 Apr 2013 05:02:14 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Allan Peterson]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=218</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Allan Peterson I do not like the step ladder Not for the frightening heights but sorrow has a heat that rises and each rung echoes the stifling silent strata of lost lives Below sorrow it is so cold and distant it might be Michigan where for three months it hurts to talk]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/metaphor/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>If I Could Imagine</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/if-i-could-imagine/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/if-i-could-imagine/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 07 Apr 2013 03:11:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1368</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Joseph Milosch The decal of a woman is on the red prophylactic machine in a Chula Vista bar. Across its front someone has peeled her away until she appears to have a head wound, partially encased by her undulating hair. The precise manner someone took to cut away this decal has produced a sculptured [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/if-i-could-imagine/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>36 Leaves to a Twig</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/36-leaves-to-a-twig/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/36-leaves-to-a-twig/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 04 Apr 2013 01:18:02 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cameron Conaway]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=990</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Cameron Conaway It&#8217;s the smell of shade or water, the quarter breath that&#8217;s cooler than the rest, that draws me to draw letters that form words that form peace in the desert.]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/36-leaves-to-a-twig/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Blue Stool</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/blue-stool/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/blue-stool/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Apr 2013 03:51:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1706</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Joseph D. Milosch this room begins behind the mushroom colored door with its two dead bolts and dry rot jamb with its bird droppings on the window sill among the Wheaties crumbs and the forked-claw prints dressing in the curtain’s shadow a man buckles his belt he could be a retired CEO down on [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/blue-stool/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Lessons Found, Part II</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/lessons-found-part-ii/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/lessons-found-part-ii/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 01 Apr 2013 04:45:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Neal Whitman</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Features]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Neal Whitman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry Prof.]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1663</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Neal Whitman, Poetry Prof Last month I reported a lesson found in a poem by Robinson Jeffers, “To the Stone-Cutters,” namely that nothing the individual makes, builds, or does will last forever. We delude ourselves if we think otherwise. This month we find that the lesson can be applied to our collective action. That [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/lessons-found-part-ii/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Klopp Lake Takes the Prize</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/klopp-lake-takes-the-prize/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/klopp-lake-takes-the-prize/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 01 Apr 2013 00:54:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Neal Whitman</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Neal Whitman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry Prof.]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=679</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Neal Whitman Susurrus of red. Marbled godwits overhead whoosh onto the mud flats. A wind from nowhere. Amazement of avocets fly over. We whisper reverently.]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/klopp-lake-takes-the-prize/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Vacation, Cape Cod</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/vacation-cape-cod/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/vacation-cape-cod/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 28 Mar 2013 23:57:19 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Susan Dion]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=858</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Susan Dion You&#8217;ve thrown those dark weary work shoes before the old cottage&#8217;s entrance door. A summer ritual. Deliberately discarded, the muddied, masculine footwear conveys an image of carelessness. But these are dual sentries whose sole mission is to halt any troublemakers, thieves, attackers, or worse, remaining on duty both day and night, providing [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/vacation-cape-cod/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>6</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Trace</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/trace/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/trace/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 25 Mar 2013 23:03:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Barbara Daniels]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=908</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Barbara Daniels I witness the last snow as it turns to rain. Memory slicks the roadway, the long-washed stains of a dead man. I&#8217;m almost lost at the risky crossing. Nothing marks it. Boughs of forsythia leap to light even in rain, even in darkness. Malice shines in splattered ditchwater, also my anger, this [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/trace/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>First Response (Reactions to Daylight Murder)</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/first-response-reactions-to-daylight-murder/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/first-response-reactions-to-daylight-murder/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 22 Mar 2013 21:49:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[KJ Hannah Greenberg]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=947</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by KJ Hannah Greenberg Except for the coccyx, which Jessica, tenaciously, was attempting to root out from under an ottoman, using only her front claws, nothing was left of Maurice Hichkins&#8217; son, Wilson. Astoundingly, Maurice Hichkins was more concerned with his notes than with his pet. Dr. Hichkins was extremely preoccupied with his study of [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/first-response-reactions-to-daylight-murder/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Spring Haiku – 2013</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/spring-haiku-2013/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/spring-haiku-2013/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Wed, 20 Mar 2013 04:43:07 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Neal Whitman</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Features]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Neal Whitman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry Prof.]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1673</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Neal Whitman It’s about time! It was a tough winter for many. Spring arrives on my end of the road on March 20 at 4:02 a.m. Pacific Daylight Time. As one marches East or West from my epicenter, the time shifts one hour per time zone … and don’t even get me started on [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/spring-haiku-2013/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>This Room</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/this-room/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/this-room/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 19 Mar 2013 20:04:18 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Daryl Muranaka]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1100</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Daryl Muranaka This tiny room, with its bare walls alongside the low, slanted ceiling, my few possessions crowded , piled one on top of another, is suddenly huge without you lying on the bed as I come through the door or your suitcase with clothes stacked neatly upon it. The flowers I bought you [...]]]></description>
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