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<channel>
	<title>Getting Something Read</title>
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	<link>http://shortpoem.org</link>
	<description>Short Works for the Peripatetic Web Surfer</description>
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			<item>
		<title>The Poet at Breakfast</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/the-poet-at-breakfast/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/the-poet-at-breakfast/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Mar 2010 19:15:04 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bonnie Maurer]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1274</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Bonnie Maurer
The Poet at Breakfast
sits down to his oatmeal
and looks outside at rain.
The rain, he tells me,
has no hands
no feet
no mouth
no cheeks
no eyebrows. 
I look up from my bowl.
Rain falls fast
and faceless
down our windows.
]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/the-poet-at-breakfast/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>4 Quatrain&#8230;</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/4-quatrain/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/4-quatrain/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Mar 2010 00:29:44 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[David B. McCoy]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1271</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by David B. McCoy
Every day I read the obits and the classifieds
What causes so many in their 50s to die
Why are there so many burial plots for sale
The mathematic possibilities simple don’t add up
…
A bird flies through the open window
I whack it with a killing blow
After flailing a bit, it again takes to flight
Everyone in [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/4-quatrain/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Outside the Window of Our Bedroom</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/outside-the-window-of-our-bedroom/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/outside-the-window-of-our-bedroom/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Mar 2010 17:42:05 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/outside-the-window-of-our-bedroom/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph Milosch
Sleeping with sedated pain, Patsy
rests her arm on top of her blue-
checkered blanket. Outside
the window of our bedroom grows
an orange tree.  Behind the fruit tree
stands a poplar, fresh with buds.
Behind it a conifer. Behind the pine
a hawk, a plane, and the edge
of the horizon. Everything seems
to hints at the immeasurable
distance between heaven [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/outside-the-window-of-our-bedroom/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Working In The Garden</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/working-in-the-garden/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/working-in-the-garden/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 01 Mar 2010 06:41:59 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Barbara Brooks]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/05/working-in-the-garden/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Barbara Brooks
Roots, land-locked lobsters, pull free
from the soil. Legs intertwine
and bodies are two layers deep.
Clods of dirt drip
loose and drop into the bed.
Weeds, winter&#8217;s barnacles, cling
to the fragile tendrils.
Nestled into new spaces, green
antennae catch the breeze.
In the spring, they will become iris.
Originally posted 2008-05-03 14:04:40. ]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/working-in-the-garden/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>A Curious Incident</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/a-curious-incident/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/a-curious-incident/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 01 Mar 2010 06:41:58 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Neal Whitman</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Features]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry Prof.]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Neal Whitman]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1261</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Neal Whitman, Poetry Prof
Scotland Yard Detective Gregory: &#8220;Is there any other point to which you wish to draw my attention?&#8221;
Holmes&#8221; &#8220;To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.&#8221;
Gregory: &#8220;The dog did nothing in the night-time.&#8221;
 
Holmes: &#8220;That was the curious incident.&#8221;
This scene from the Sherlock Holmes story, &#8220;Silver Blaze,&#8221; was inspiration for [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/a-curious-incident/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</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>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:25:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Editor</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 Impulse Control [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/first-response-reactions-to-daylight-murder/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Child&#8217;s Play</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/childs-play/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/childs-play/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:24:59 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Neal Whitman</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Features]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry Prof.]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Neal Whitman]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1256</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Neal Whitman, Poetry Prof
Last month, this feature got a comment from Charles Ghigna, known as Father Goose. Since then I learned how to pronounce his name: with a hard G, Geen-ya. I also visited the two blogs he posted. On charlesghigna.blogspot.com I found a new poem each week for teachers, librarians, parents, and kids. [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/childs-play/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Uncle</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/uncle/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/uncle/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:14:43 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Paul Hostovsky</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Paul Hostovsky]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/11/uncle/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Paul Hostovsky
For all his bluster
there was a sweetness
of surrender about him
that rose up like a shrug
when he rested from being right
the way the bulldozers and backhoes
at a construction site at dinnertime
are all finally perfectly still
the tines of their buckets
pointing upward from the ground
Blogged with the Flock Browser
Originally posted 2008-11-10 12:45:02. ]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/uncle/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Friction</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/friction/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/friction/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:14:42 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Allan Peterson]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=588</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Allan Peterson
Some trees have rubbed themselves raw
from each other
Like us both will die from such loving
but that takes years
Meanwhile we are doing the ordinary
looking for horse mint
for architectural detail‚ for bodies of dog flies
smashed with my hat
Originally posted 2008-09-12 22:47:54. ]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/friction/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Vice</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/vice/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/vice/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:14:41 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Oritsegbemi Emmanuel Jakpa]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/04/vice/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Oritsegbemi Emmanuel Jakpa
Like life
Vice begets vice.
Watch with prudency
You do not get it.
It could just be the penicillin
From the pharmacist.
Originally posted 2008-04-27 11:23:08. ]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/vice/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Global Economy</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/global-economy/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/global-economy/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:14:40 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sally George]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/09/global-economy/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Sally George
One day, for no particular reason, Deborah noticed that she didn&#8217;t really like her clothes. Not the ones she was wearing, or the ones she could think of in her closet. She tried to remember how they had looked when she bought them, what she had liked about them. Had they all been [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/global-economy/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>In the Temple of Whispers</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/in-the-temple-of-whispers/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/in-the-temple-of-whispers/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 02 Feb 2010 03:14:39 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Joseph Milosch</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joseph D. Milosch]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/in-the-temple-of-whispers/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Joseph Milosch
The pine window frames shrunk in the cold.
Snow, the poor man&#8217;s insulation, drifted
between the storm and our permanent windows.
Dad left the house at 6:30 am.
He&#8217;d return fifteen hours later
with frozen pastures smooth
in his face lines, a bull&#8217;s
butt to the wind in his right eye.
Fifteen hours of coffee, cigarettes,
two lane roads, paved or dirt [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/in-the-temple-of-whispers/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Signs of a Middle Age</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/signs-of-a-middle-age/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/signs-of-a-middle-age/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 25 Jan 2010 20:24:10 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Persis M. Karim</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Persis M. Karim]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=572</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Persis M. Karim
It isn&#8217;t the dark circles
that underscore the eyes
or lines that break out
in latticework at temples
not the deep
grooves that signal
the constancy of smile
or frown
resting on the face,
or heaviness
of chin
bearing the weight
of difficult decades
but the pinch of skin
just below the ears,
like the apricot
whose golden, taut skin
settles into softness
after too much ripening.
Listen to: Signs of [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/signs-of-a-middle-age/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
<enclosure url="http://shortpoem.org/wp-content/2008/09/Signs-of-Middle-Age.mp3" length="63325" type="audio/mpeg" />
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>American Life in Poetry</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/american-life-in-poetry-12/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/american-life-in-poetry-12/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 25 Jan 2010 20:24:09 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Features]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[American Life in Poetry]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1258</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[By Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate, 2004-2006
Animals are incapable of reason, or so we&#8217;ve been told, but we imaginative humans keep talking to our dogs and cats as if they could do algebra. In this poem, Ann Struthers looks into the mystery of instinctive behavior.
Not Knowing Why
Adolescent white pelicans squawk, rustle, flap their wings,
lift off [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/american-life-in-poetry-12/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Distance</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/distance/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/distance/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 19 Jan 2010 10:00:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Ag Synclair]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1248</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Ag Synclair
red river desert
accipitridae seek food
the spoils of war
accipitridae
]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/distance/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>I&#8217;ve Been to the Mountaintop</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/ive-been-to-the-mountaintop/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/ive-been-to-the-mountaintop/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Mon, 18 Jan 2010 09:00:36 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Other]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1250</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[Excerpts from Martin Luther King Jr.&#8217;s speech, April 3, 1968, in Memphis, Tennessee. The full text of this speech can be read here.
&#8230;  something is happening in our world. And you know, if I were standing at the beginning of time, with the possibility of taking a kind of general and panoramic view of the [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/ive-been-to-the-mountaintop/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>1</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Ancestral</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/ancestral/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/ancestral/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 17 Jan 2010 04:28:04 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Margarita Engle]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/2008/04/ancestral/</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Margarita Engle
Descending
into the land
of childhood
a yellow-walled town
on the coast
of light
memory&#8217;s
turbulent landing
each rediscovery
of time flow
and place love
always new.
Originally posted 2008-04-27 10:41:05. ]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/ancestral/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Snow-Birds Settling</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/snowbirds-settling/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/snowbirds-settling/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 17 Jan 2010 04:28:03 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dretta Grace White]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1255</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Dretta Grace White
Snow-Birds settling
Made all the difference
She thought of their
Settling
And of the light  they gave
And became in her way
As grey
As they
snow-bird
]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/snowbirds-settling/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>4</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Panopticism</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/panopticism-2/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/panopticism-2/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 16 Jan 2010 22:42:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[James Eric Watkins]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1246</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by James Eric Watkins
embracing wind
encircles the universe
swirls the planet
consumes my senses
panoptically caresses the tall grasses
that sway
all around me
and night lies quietly against my skin
&#8220;panopticism&#8221; was published in Shemomin April of 2008
]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/panopticism-2/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>NY Times Op. Ed. &#8211; The Underlying Tragedy</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/ny-times-op-ed-the-underlying-tragedy/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/ny-times-op-ed-the-underlying-tragedy/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 16 Jan 2010 22:22:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Other]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1253</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[The Underlying Tragedy
By David Brooks
Published: January 15, 2010
&#8220;The devastation from the earthquake in Haiti should be used as an occasion to rethink our approach to global poverty.&#8221;
Excerpt from the NYT: This week, a major earthquake &#8230; measuring a magnitude of 7.0, struck near Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The Red Cross estimates that between 45,000 and 50,000 people [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/ny-times-op-ed-the-underlying-tragedy/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Help for Haiti</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/help-for-haiti/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/help-for-haiti/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 16 Jan 2010 03:54:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Not Fiction]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Other]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1252</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[(Via TidBITS.)
Tech-Based Help for Haiti, by Doug McLean
It&#8217;s difficult to wrap one&#8217;s mind around the horrific damage caused by Haiti&#8217;s recent earthquake, &#8230;
AT&#038;T &#8212; AT&#038;T cell phone users &#8211; including nearly all U.S. iPhone users &#8211; can make $10 donations to the Red Cross International Relief Fund simply by sending a text message. To donate&#8230;. [...]]]></description>
		<wfw:commentRss>http://shortpoem.org/help-for-haiti/feed/</wfw:commentRss>
		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Dead of Winter</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/dead-of-winter/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/dead-of-winter/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 15 Jan 2010 12:00:48 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[James Eric Watkins]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1242</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by James Eric Watkins
ice coats
the branches
all around
the cold wind
is the only sound
]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>The Myth of Sisyphus (Tanka Prose)</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/the-myth-of-sisyphus-tanka-prose/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/the-myth-of-sisyphus-tanka-prose/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 15 Jan 2010 02:48:34 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Chen-ou Liu]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1243</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Chen-ou  Liu
people awake
work, eat, and sleep
the Mondays of present
follow the rhythm
of the Sundays in past
Blank years in and out. This is daily life.
And then the sudden moment of being: the stab of memories, the sting of longings, the slaughter of time. There is no screaming tragedy in ordinary life.
]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>2</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Spiritual Birth</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/spiritual-birth/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/spiritual-birth/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 05 Jan 2010 04:15:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>S. Dale Knight</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[New]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Michal Mahgerefteh]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=1170</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Michal Mahgerefteh 
Above and around the Mercy Seat
stretched wings encode His Will 
to the Material Universe through
the ever changing horizons: the sun, 
the moon, the stars-at their zenith.
Nevuah uses words to encompass
a mark upon the forehead of men
falling like rain from heaven. And 
I, with an array of weaving, wrap
the Fabric of Time around [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Love During Wartime</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/love-during-wartime/</link>
		<comments>http://shortpoem.org/love-during-wartime/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sat, 02 Jan 2010 17:26:55 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Editor</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Howie Good]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://shortpoem.org/?p=196</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[by Howie Good
Time to crack open that bottle
the previous tenants bequeathed to us.
We can drink to whatever you want -
lack of sleep, importune prayers,
another day of freedom from the landlord&#8217;s
fretful knock &#8211; then tumble into bed,
our bones loosened, our minds in happy
disarray, despite, or perhaps because,
it&#8217;s now light, and there&#8217;s a kind of war
outside our [...]]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
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