Friday, October 13, 2006


My own State! Betrayed! Shut out in everlasting darkness without the pleasure of State Endorsed Poets! Say it isn't so!

Make me proud.


  1. Anonymous5:28 PM

    Washington . . . The West Side

    You’ve only to visit in autumn,
    And you’ll stay.
    The reds, golds, yellows, and orange
    Of maple leaves drifting from the heights
    Of limbs stroking the grey light of sky,
    Piled high will beckon you to play.

    But yet winter has its own design,
    Often wet, not frigid for long.
    The skies more slate and charcoal
    The wind might whoosh and howl
    And chase you in to fire’s warmth.
    But will not overstay the goal.

    Spring comes awkward with might and meek,
    Undecided but in bloom.
    Early tulips and daffodil
    Hearty but hungry for the sun,
    Which often hides in winter’s wake,
    Waiting to deliver the anticipated thrill.

    Summer proclaims its hindered arrival,
    The welcomed guest spreading the heat
    Making green the color of choice.
    While flowers herald the show-off sun,
    Soaking in the rapture, exploding in unequalled palette,
    The season unfurled, success announced . . . and then it’s done.

    by Nicole Petrino-Salter

  2. Anonymous5:31 PM

    Kinda lame, but, oh well. Who wants any accolades from Gov. Gregoire anyway? Oops . . .

  3. Title: I Used To Love My State Of Origin, But Now I Have My Doubts

    Washington, named after George
    Beautiful mountains and concerts at the Gorge
    Apples, coffee, rain, and sun
    Evergreen, ever-gray, laid back and oh, so fun

    Until they outlawed playing TAG!!!

    The End.

    Did you read about that? Seriously. No good.

  4. Anonymous10:30 PM



    always costs what I have left

    after beers and little debbies

    after I’m alone

    and I don’t want anyone to see me

    crying into a dunkin doughnuts napkin

    checked baggage

    non-identified gender

    people with their faces caved in

    from sorrow and failure

    everything is broken

    smoking is this kindness

    a favor to myself

    to save myself

    from dying a less predictable way

    writing poems on cocktail napkins

    writing poems in travel toilets

    writing poems is this plea

    sent out to some other hobo

    also running away from home retroactively

    who also happened to do the

    international baccalaureate in high school

    but ended up bumming rides to Vancouver

  5. Anonymous7:48 AM

    Poets jump up for your annual spaying
    You heard me right
    "Annual poet spaying"
    It's that time of the life again, people.
    Assume the preposition
    and bite down.
    The words are a fluid chain,
    A cyanide capsule that bites you back,
    and nobody, I mean nobody
    will excuse themselves from this one.
    If you people had a nickel
    for every time I mentioned poets
    in a disparaging way (called them subhuman
    chased them with baseball bats)
    you'd be rich neutered poets
    I mean rich.
    And if that doesn't make you mad,
    and brand me a traitor…
    then all I can do is write harder
    and grind my poems in peace.