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	<title>Getting Something Read &#187; Joan McNerney</title>
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	<description>if compression is the first grace of style</description>
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		<title>Five Fall Poems</title>
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		<pubDate>Tue, 17 May 2011 19:40:51 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joan McNerney]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[by Joan McNerney A cup of coffee warm fat pancakes bubbling up my haiku breakfast. … Try to catch the wind. Count the ripples in the sea. Become a child again. … Shy autumnal bird did you brush against the moon to get that pale down? … Winds sway maple trees leaves drop like butterflies [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Nine Short Summer Poems</title>
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		<pubDate>Sat, 22 Jan 2011 05:03:56 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
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		<category><![CDATA[Joan McNerney]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[by Joan McNerney Hallow mouth of the moon. Clouds cross forming an airy handkerchief. Luncheon by the lake. How lucky we are to have such a large finger bowl. Summer evening. Sun and moon share the sky in perfect symmetry. Splash. One word in oceans of sound. Who threw a ladle full of moonbeams on [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Ten Poems for Spring</title>
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		<pubDate>Wed, 29 Apr 2009 04:15:19 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
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		<description><![CDATA[by Joan McNerney Our woods are half dressed in fragile buds as dandelions sprout from nowhere. An apple blossom stolen from the park tree at dawn quivering with rain. What does this cat think strumming his tail with such ease to fugues of Bach? Green new leaf fits hand perfectly&#8212;the future lies in your palm. [...]]]></description>
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		<title>Six Winter Poems</title>
		<link>http://shortpoem.org/six-winter-poems/</link>
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		<pubDate>Thu, 19 Mar 2009 16:48:21 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>D.S.</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joan McNerney]]></category>

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		<description><![CDATA[by Joan McNerney The morning mist roams back and forth like a voiceless wanderer. More startling than that windowpane red with sun are your ice blue eyes. Â  Deep winterset night. Sleepless stars glide through the sky in aerial ballet. Even Goya&#8217;s portraits are less intriguing than faces of frost on my window. Â  A [...]]]></description>
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	<a href="http://shortpoem.org/wp-content/ProjectHoneyPot_script/analystpainters.php"><span style="display: none;">Private</span></a></channel>
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