Circadian Poems

A place to celebrate poetry, poets, and the creative spirit.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005


By Colin Galbraith

Nursing a pint
and a quiet thought,
writing loose words
in a tranquil spot.
She sat down beside me
with a bottle of beer,
pulled out a menthol
flicked her hair.
I couldn't resist
to offer a light,
she turned on her chair
filled me with might.
"What are you doing?"
said she to I,
"I'm writing a poem
to remember you by".

Colin Galbraith has seen many poems of his poems published. His first chapbook, Brick by Brick, was published in April 2005 and a second chapbook about the recent Edinburgh Festival is scheduled for release on December 2. . He can be contact through his website: or his daily blog:

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Why Write Poetry?

Why Write Poetry?
An Opinion by Brenda Braene

“Why write poetry?”

I am often asked the question. And then it continues:

“It’s not like you can make a living at it.”

“It’s not like you’ll ever be famous.”

But that’s not why I write poetry. I don’t want to be famous. The very thought of it makes me cringe. Maybe someday I will make a living at it. There are professional poets. Sharon Olds, Marge Piercy, May Sarton, Robert Louis Stevenson, Keats, Shelley, and Jane Augustine are the names that immediately come to mind. Shakespeare was a poet as well as a playwright, and his sonnets still inspire us hundreds of years later. I might never become proficient enough or prolific enough to make my living as a poet, but that’s okay.

I write poetry because it feeds my inner rhythms. I like to read novels. But I view the world in smaller pieces. Instead of looking at an entire forest, I’d rather truly study one particular tree – the scent of it, the sensation of the needles across my palm, the texture of the trunk against my back, the way it looks as it reaches up towards the sky. There are writers who could create an entire novel out of the experience. But I am not one of them. I like to celebrate the small details of daily life.

People have longed for poetry since ancient times. Think of the Celtic Bards. Think of the tales of The Odyssey and The Iliad. Those are long poems, telling heroic tales, and reflecting history. Perhaps not genuine archeology, but the personal history of the bard and his time. Poets used to be revered and feared. Perhaps because of that “society” -- that demon group who wants us all to be part of a faceless, nameless herd instead of celebrating our individuality – began turning them into a joke.

Far too often, the word “poet” brings to mind a pseudo-Beat, pseudo-literary, pretentious person who does not want to work for a living. Instead, he writes self-indulgent verse, drinks and smokes in cafes (even though it’s now often illegal to smoke indoors) and sleeps with the students from his continuing education class. Or she writes floating verses about smoke and fairies that are incomprehensible and waits for someone with money to rescue her.

I believe many writers and non-writers flirt with those stereotypes at some point in their lives. But true poets have an insatiable curiosity about the world. Instead of dealing in theory, they deal in detail. And they try to communicate that detail with a minimum of verbiage.

Four short lines which transport me into the poet’s heart, which let me see through the poet’s eyes, which let me hear what the poet hears affect me longer than the most powerful one thousand page (and pound) novel.

It is not because I cannot concentrate for long periods of time. It’s simply that a simple arrangement of beautiful words have more impact on me. A single rose in a lovely vase is more beautiful to me than three dozen roses crammed into a bucket. I can take my time and enjoy each petal of the rose, instead of feeling as though I’ll never give each petal of the bouquet significant attention.

There is so much discussion about living mindfully. Yet, with all the mobile phones and email and having television on non-stop from the moment one walks through the door, it is almost impossible to truly notice anything.

Unless one pauses and experiences it through a poem.

I want to participate in the world, not view it through a screen. I want to touch it and taste it. Words make the experience more immediate to me than any computer-generated image can.

That is why I read poetry and write poetry: To experience the world instead of merely inhabiting it as a voyeur.

Brenda Braene’s blog is Poet Meets Muse, and she shares a website, The Three Braenes, with Bridget and Beatrix Braene. The three share a love of Jane Austen’s life and works. Her poems “Harvest I in Two Voices”, “Harvest Moon”, and “Gran Fletcher’s Apple Pie” were published by Circadian Poems.

Monday, November 28, 2005

"An Epiphany"

An Epiphany
By Patricia Gallant

When we see things in a new light,
We realize what we could not see,
For our racing minds kept us in the dark,
But now we have an epiphany.
We do not always know the way
When our trials are sad and rough,
But a guiding light appears to us
And helps us with support and love.
We learn new ways every day,
For that is what it is to live,
To struggle and fight and cry,
To learn how to accept and give.
The light bulb blinks above our heads
Telling us discovery is near.
We open our hearts, minds and eyes.
We discover what we need to hear.
Our guardian angels have led the way
To help us through troubled times.
And the gift we learned through it all
Is that the sun will always shine.
(July 15, 2005)

Patricia Gallant is a mother of two daughters from Ontario, Canada. Her first poem was published in the Toronto Star Newspaper in 1978. She writes poetry when the mood strikes. She is currently working on a novel.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Poems Celebrating American Thanksgiving

My First American Thanksgiving
By Danielle Frézier

On my first American Thanksgiving,
turkey tasted odd and bulky in my mouth;
sweet potatoes like candy; cranberries tart.
An atheist spoke Grace, giving thanks, holding hands.
We drank Beaujolais and ate chocolate cake.
Why eat corn? Cows eat corn.
Enormous sandwiches two hours past the meal.
Laughter. Conversation. Debate. Dishes.
My first American Thanksgiving
taught the importance of a single day
devoted to thanks, warmth, and love.


Thanksgiving Morn
By Hunter Cole

Steel gray skies threaten to unroll a snow curtain.
Smoke curls from chimneys – different woods, different scents.
An owl calls; an unseen creature scatters dead leaves in fright.
Fisher tracks remind me to lock the barn.
Sweat rolls between my shoulder blades
As the axe splits the logs.
Aromas of coffee and biscuits and bacon
Urge me to hurry in my tasks
So I can rejoin Beth, standing at the stove making breakfast;
Donna coloring on newsprint beside a brown stuffed bear in his own chair;
Evvy and Kyle fighting over who’s old enough to peel potatoes;
Preparing for a day of guests and laughter.


Gran Fletcher’s Apple Pie
By Brenda Braene

A slightly burnt smell of cinnamon and sugar
transports me back to snowy days
in Gran’s blue and white kitchen,
a black and white cat watching from her wooden chair.
The day was spent in soft four
Rolling, kneading, cutting cutter.
“Do it just so.”
“Why don’t my pies taste like yours, Gran?”
“The older you get, the more kinds of love you put in.
I gotta few years on you, dreamy girl.
Older bakers got more kinda love in their pies.”

Brenda Braene’s blog is Poet Meets Muse, and she shares a website, The Three Braenes, with Bridget and Beatrix Braene. The three share a love of Jane Austen’s life and works. Her poems “Harvest I in Two Voices” and “Harvest Moon” were published by Circadian Poems.

Hunter Cole loves the Maine woods. This is his first published poem.

Danielle Frézier is at her best in the moonlight. She does not have a website . . .yet. She was previously published by Circadian Poems on Halloween.

Circadian Poems is off for the holidays. We will return on Monday, November 28 with a featured poem.

In the meantime, the address is up and working again. You may submit poems here.

Have a wonderful week!

Friday, November 18, 2005

A Friend

By Rachelle Arlin Credo

Someone who makes you happy when you're blue
And keeps your company wherever you go
Someone who's there when things go wrong
To give you courage and keep you strong

If you are tired, weak and weary
He is a refuge of comfort and sympathy
And if you're weighed down by great despair
He's always there to lend a shoulder

His presence makes everything else easier
His wisdom to help, his laughters to cheer
Indeed he's the one whatever you'd call
A companion, guide and counselor - one and all!

Rachelle Arlin Credo is a poet from the Philippines.
Her poetry has been published in various magazines and
online poetry publications. This is her third poem published by Circadian Poems.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Poetry News

The Scruffy Dog Review is open to submissions of poetry, short stories, and non-fiction articles. This bi-monthly literary ezine will launch in January, 2006. For more information and guidelines, visit The Scruffy Dog Review.

Reminder: Next Monday, the 21st, will feature a variety of short poems in honor of American Thanksgiving. Circadian will then be off for the holidays until the following Monday.

The email address is back in operation. For correspondence and submissions, email here.

The deadline for short Yuletide poems is November 19 – ten lines or less.

We’re also seeking short New Year’s poems, to celebrate our first publishing date after the holidays in January. Again, ten lines or less. Deadline – Dec. 1.

Deadline for short Valentine’s poems is Jan. 5.

Wednesday, November 16, 2005


By Colin Galbraith

You were missing from our bed
when I woke up this morning
and you were missing last night
when I fell asleep
I guess that means
our love is broken
or you got sick
during the night
probably of me
or something else
to do with me
Either way
I miss you
like an eagle
needs the sky

Colin Galbraith has seen many poems of his poems published. His first chapbook, Brick by Brick, was published in April 2005 and a second chapbook about the recent Edinburgh Festival is scheduled for publication later this year. He can be contact through his website: or his daily blog: Both his poems and essays have been published by Circadian.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Edwin Morgan

Edwin Morgan - Scotland's Makar
(b. 1920)
by Colin Galbraith

Edwin George Morgan was born in the West End of Glasgow on 27th April 1920 and has lived there all his life. He attended school locally at Rutherglen Academy on the South Side after moving there with his middle-class parents soon after he was born.

Morgan’s teachers often complained about the amount of work he submitted for marking, such was his keen interest in language at an early age. He proceeded to attend Glasgow High School and then Glasgow University in 1937 to study English Literature with French and Russian.

By his late teens, Morgan was "pretty sure" he was "going to do something with poetry", but his aspirations were halted in 1940 when he left for the Middle East during the Second World War as a member of the Royal Army Medical Corps. He returned in 1946 to complete his studies and graduated the following year with a First Class Honours Degree in English Literature. Shortly after, he was approached by Oxford University but he took up the position of Lecturer in Glasgow University’s English Literature Department.

Morgan’s interests were widely spread and his fascinations with technology, art, and film spurred him to start to travel the world during the 1950’s. He began to translate poetry, producing versions of poems and plays from a large number of languages into the Scottish tongue. He would later go on to translate Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac and Racine's Phèdre into Scots, both of which would be highly acclaimed.

The early 1950s were "not a very thrilling or throbbing period” according to Morgan. He explained, “It was just at the end of the war and a lot of people were picking up loose ends. I don't think I was terribly aware of what was happening in Scotland.”

Yet Morgan has become perhaps the most important poet ever to come from Scotland, documenting the history, people and politics in a way never before accomplished. And it’s not all serious works either; he has experimented with science fiction poetry and in Sonnets from Scotland, he explores the life, landscapes and potential of the country. Morgan's poetry is inventive and challenging as his acceptance of change. It forces those who read his work to think about the world they live and of Scotland’s place in it. In particular, Glasgow suits him, as it too is a city constantly reinventing itself, yet remaining vibrant.

In Glasgow Sonnets, Morgan describes the changing side of Glasgow in a "warts and all" collection of poems.

A mean wind wanders through the backcourt trash.

Hackles on puddles rise, old mattresses
puff briefly and subside. Play-fortresses

of brick and bric-a-brac spill out some ash.

Four storeys have no windows left to smash

One of Morgan's poetic identities is as Scotland's, if not Britain's, best comic performer of verse. Poems such as "The Loch Ness Monster's Song", with its remarkable attempt to recreate the voice of Scotland’s most famous mysterious monster, or "The Clone Poem", which is based on the conceit;

“when you've seen one you've seen them all seen them all seen one seen them all all all all”

Morgan’s first book of poetry was published in 1952 and quickly gained international recognition, but it wasn’t until the early 1960s that he became involved with the International Concrete Poetry Movement. He corresponded with Concrete Poets in Brazil and along with Ian Hamilton-Finlay, soon became one of the major exponents of Concrete Poetry ever to hail from the UK.

Morgan once said, "there is a purist side to concrete poetry, which is very different to what I do, and which I like, but I felt I wanted to give it a bit more body." A typical Morgan concrete poem is "The Computer's First Christmas Card", from 1968, which begins:

"j o l l y m e r r y h o l l y b e r r y j o l l y b e r r y"

and ends, after many attempts:

"C h r i s m e r r y a s M E R R Y C H R Y S A N T H E M U M"

Or how about, "Siesta of a Hungarian Snake":

s sz sz SZ sz SZ sz ZS zs Zs zs zs z

In 1973 his collection, From Glasgow to Saturn, further supported the diversity in his subject matter as well as being chosen as the Poetry Book Society Choice for that year. Then in 1975 he became Professor of English before retiring in 1980 aged 60, thus ending his successful career as Professor Emeritus.

He wandered back into education in 1987 when he took the post of Visiting Professor at Strathclyde University for three years and then at the University of Wales until 1995. In 1990 Morgan openly admitted he was gay and became an active supporter of the repeal of Section 28, openly criticising Church and business leaders and publicly endorsing Gay rights campaigns.

Open-minded and humane is how Morgan is most often quoted as being, for there is not one thing he cannot write about and transform into a thing of beauty. Once, when asked to write a poem about something as mundane as a coffee cup, he came up with "Mug Poem":

Sip delicately as a snake in the midday sun,
Slurp hugely as a hippopotamus after a lumbering run.
Snort like a sow at the wallow.
Swallow as sweetly as a swallow.
Drain me deep
let freshness sweep
throughout your veins
to slake you, make you
laugh and leap
to old refrains.

Morgan was announced as Glasgow's first Poet Laureate in October 1999, which lasted until 2002, but it was during that same year he was diagnosed with an incurable disease. The news of this was a huge shock and caused him to think about his own mortality and in turn, reflect this in poetry.

In the last verse of "Epilogue: Seven Decades", he uses a beaded curtain as a strong metaphor for his death:

The beads clash faintly
behind me as I go forward. No candle-light
please, keep that for Europe. Switch the whole thing
right on. When I go in
I want it bright, I want to catch whatever is there
in full sight.

Edwin Morgan is still enjoying his poetry and last year (2004), became Scotland’s first official National Poet or ‘Scot's Makar.’ He wrote a poem for the opening of the Scottish Parliament called "Open The Doors", which was read at the opening ceremony by fellow poet and playwright Liz Lochead, and his newest collection, New Selected Poems, won the Poetry Book Society Choice for the second time.

Long Live the Makar.

Colin Galbraith is Associate Editor of The Scruffy Dog Review and the author of Hunting Jack, a mystery serial published by, which won the Editor’s Choice Award in February 2005. Colin has had several short stories and poems published, as well as his first e-book of poetry and photography, Brick by Brick, in April 2005. Colin is currently working on a new novel, several short stories and his second poetry chapbook, Fringe Fantastic: The Poet's Experience of the 2005 Edinburgh Fringe Festival, is scheduled for publication on December 2nd 2005. Colin lives in Edinburgh, Scotland, with his wife and daughter and can be contacted through his website,, or through his increasingly popular daily writing journal, Both his poetry and his essays have been published by Circadian.

Monday, November 14, 2005

Monday's Poem: "Clarity"

By Michelle Miles

I see you there in my dreams
But you are just a ghost
I’ve lost you to the world above
I think I miss you most
I wake to find myself alone
And somewhere in the darkness
As the ache rises in my breastbone
The scent of you still lingers there
I feel your presence next to me
Warm and heady and musky
In the quagmire of my gloom
I turn to find you are not there
You are but a wraith
A scent
A feeling
A spirit
You are the one I long for in my dreams
Knowing I cannot be with you in this life
I pick up the knife
Carving my anguish and despair
Tracing the blue veins under the skin
Bringing the blood forth
It is my only respite
In a life of loneliness
Shadows overtake my eyes
And I know my time is nigh
I see you standing there
Reaching your hand to me
And I know this is not a dream
I dream no more

Michelle Miles writes in a variety of genres. She recently completed her first erotic novella, the first in the Coffee House Chronicles, which is on submission and is currently working on her second, NICE GIRLS DO. Visit her daily blog, Ye Olde Inkwell, at for all the latest news.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Friday's Poem: "White Cap Warriors"

White Cap Warriors
by Michael Levy

It was a calm morning,
the ocean glistening
with magnificent sparking diamond,
uncountable treasures,
there to be savored, by the ob-servant eye,
Suddenly a blast of cold air sprung up,
armies of white caps began their assault
wave after wave of infantry,
apparently, all with a purpose,
seemingly, on an important mission,
Their supremacy could not be halted,
I tried to fathom their cause
why did they destroy the diamond treasures,
that innocently brought such pleasure,
unceasingly, they formed their groups
advancing, so they thought,
Their journey was not smooth
rather, rough and chaotic
onward, towards the final destination,
a simple shoreline, that just enjoyed
its place in the sun,
finding no objective to their quest, the white caps
vanished into nothingness,
just like belligerent human beings.

Michael Levy is the author four books: What is the Point?, Minds of Blue Souls of Gold, Enjoy Yourself - It's Later Than You Think and Invest with a Genius. His new, book, published on 1st June 05 ,titled: The Joys of Live Alchemy. The words "Live Alchemy" are an anagram of Michael's name. His web site is ranked number one in the world out of 1,800,000 websites when "Inspirational books" are the search words on google.
Web Sites :

Thursday, November 10, 2005

November 10 Poetry News

One of our talented poets, Pamela K. Taylor, has tied for first place with her poem “Solidarity”, which will be published in the next issue of Q-News Magazine. Congratulations to Pamela! It’s always great to see wonderful work well-appreciated.

Visit her website: for more information on her work.

On our own front, all poetry slots are now filled through the end of the year. Anything submitted from now forward will be scheduled in 2006 – which isn’t that far away!

The one exception is the Yuletide holiday poems. We still have room for one or two more, ten lines or less. Get them in by November 19, please.

There is still room for a few essays. However, I need to be stricter on the guidelines for essays – please do not just send me a link to an essay. Please submit the actual essay. And please edit it down to 800-1000 words before you submit.

The website transfer should be complete soon, and the Circadian addresses re-set. Keep an eye here and on your e-mail for the update.

Hope you’re having a great November!

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Wednesday's Poem: "Reminiscence"

By Rachelle Arlin Credo

I remember the first time we met
When you gave me an intense look I could never forget
With your eyes glowing with so much passion
I felt being engulfed in a spell of tender affection

I remember the moment when you greeted me with a smile
Right away on the spot I melted after a while
And I saw the tender sparkle in your eyes that captivated me
I felt peculiar, I thought I was in heaven already.

And I remember those romantic walks we used to take
Wherein you held my hands my knees would shake
The way you ran your fingers through my hair
It reminds me of sweet moments we shared together

And I still remember the words you whispered into my ears
That no matter what you'll always love me now and forever
For this, I'll do everything to make you return to me
I'll take you back whatever price I'll pay.

Rachelle Arlin Credo is a poet from the Philippines.
Her poetry has been published in various magazines and
online poetry publications. This is her second appearance in Circadian Poems.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Tuesday's Essay:"Blake's Universe Through a Tyger's Eye"

Blake’s Universe Through A Tyger’s Eye
By Deborah Adams

The Tyger
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright,
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
-Willam Blake

“The Tyger” is probably the most anthologized poem of William Blake (1757-1827). It's from his Songs of Experience (1794), and even though his writing is difficult to explain, it's understandable that as a graphic artist who aspired to convey very complex ideas that he would apply his ideas, and then take the written word to his engravers to get his point across. Most of his colleagues deemed his work a joke, however in spite of how crazy he was his universe remained consistent and complex. When the reader understands this cosmos, his work becomes more readable, even anticipating some modern thinking by a century.

The insistent rhythm almost memorizes itself as Blake makes the composition of verse seem a simple task. While many poets of his day used blank verse or self-contained pentameter couplets to convey ideas he took simple language suggested by his reading of Elizabethan and Restoration authors and modified it to define his complex ideas. He contains them in six four-line stanzas, and used pairs of rhyming couplets to create a sense of rhythm and continuity. The notable exception occurs in lines 3 and 4 and 23 and 24, where "eye" is imperfectly paired, ironically enough, with "symmetry.” The majority of lines in this lyric contain exactly seven syllables, alternating between stressed and unstressed syllables and the pattern has sometimes been identified as trochaic tetrameter.

The clever trick here is that he has taken this musical force of versification with the intention of defying any sense of interpretation. First the reader must be aware of the ideas behind Blake's Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience:
Good and evil are not opposites but rather different aspects of the nature of God;
Good and evil are different and do matter in the natural (as opposed to spiritual) world, especially in the way that men react with God's creation.

With that discovery one can see that it is the first idea that Blake is expressing in “The Tyger” one of the natural symmetry in life.” The Tyger” is neither good nor evil, just the two ideas put together in a powerful and beautiful image where one spotlights an exposition, that one cannot resonate without the other. One would not see good if it were not for evil and vice versa; the simplicity and symmetry ingenuously echoed by the framing of his written words creates a clear picture of the engraver employing his poetical hand. “The Tyger” has long been recognized as one of Blake's finest poems and more than one scholar has attempted to explain it:

(The Tyger)..."happens to have been quoted often enough ... to have made its strange old Hebrew-like grandeur, its Oriental latitude yet force of eloquence, comparatively familiar"
-Alexander Gilchrist, Life of William Blake (1863)

"’The Tyger’, frequently contrasting it with the language, images, and questions of origin presented by its "innocent" counterpart, ‘The Lamb.’ (It) satirizes the lyrics found in ‘The Lamb’ that is not the poem's primary function. It is the combination of tones of terror with awe for a being that can create the tiger as well as the lamb, the poet ‘celebrates the divinity and beauty of the creation and its transcendence of human good and evil without relinquishing the Keatsian awareness that 'the miseries of the world Are misery.'"
-E. D. Hirsch, Jr, Innocence and Experience: An Introduction to Blake

...the poem demonstrates that "creation in art is for Blake the renewal of visionary truth" ...... that while the tiger may be terrifying, it presents an intensity of vision that should be welcomed with "a gaiety which can find a place in the divine plan for both the tears and spears of the stars, ... and for both the tiger and the lamb."
-Hazard Adams, William Blake: A Reading of the Shorter Poems, (1963).

"While 'The Tyger' can be read in a variety of ways, the juxtaposition of lamb and tiger points not merely to the opposition of innocence and experience, but to the resolution of the paradox they present." As the lamb is subjected to the travails of the world, "innocence is converted to experience. It does not rest there. Energy can be curbed but it cannot be destroyed, and when it reaches the limits of its endurance, it bursts forth in revolutionary wrath."
-Mark Schorer, William Blake: The Politics of Vision.

"As with so many of Blake's lyrics, part of the poem's strategy is to resist attempts to imprint meaning upon it. The Tyger tempts us to a cognitive apprehension but in the end exhausts our efforts." As a result, the critic concludes, "the extreme diversity of opinion among critics of Blake about the meaning of particular poems and passages of poems is perhaps the most eloquent testimony we have to the success of his work."
-Jerome J. McGann, “Essay” (1973).

It doesn't take much for the every day reader to understand this work from a certain point of view. At the its very heart lives the question humans reach for in struggles for enlightenment of God the benevolent creator of nature, Why is there horror, pain, and bloodshed? Blake refuses to answer that question for us. Here in lies his cleverness, by leaving it open it reflects back the all too human experience of not getting a completely satisfactory answer to this essential question of faith. Evil should not happen, and makes no sense, but there you go one would be blind to the goodness if evil was absent, yet when one sees this happen:

the stars throw down their spears
and water heaven with their tears.

Blake understands from his own cosmology that evil becomes sharply outlined and separable when the reader is left to decide whether the Tyger encompasses more.... maybe it is not "evil" for a real tiger to eat a lamb, but is part-and- parcel of the world. It's no wonder that 100 years after his death he is considered among the greatest of English poets.

Blair, Bob
Accessed Nov 28 2001

Public Domain text taken from The Poet's Corner
Accessed May 31, 2005

The Wondering Minstrels
Accessed Nov 28 2001

Deborah Adams is an Editor for Everything2 ( A
retired teacher from Saint Joseph's Catholic School in Tucson, AZ. She
researches poets and their poetry highlighting the history and era
with a desire to learn what may have inspired the verse. Deborah has a
Bachelor's from Southwestern College, Winfield, KS.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Monday's Poem: "Bleeding"

By B.K. Birch

I am bleeding
on the inside
where no one can see
my wounds fresh and gaping.

I scream from the pain,
where no one can hear
they can only see
the smile on my face

I writhe in agony
behind closed doors
I pound my fists
I curse and stomp

I live two lives –
the one on the outside
trying to love and be loved
to give what I cannot get.

I long for understanding
but I am considered different
called a freak, wanderer, or trash
no one cares.

I long for isolation
far away from the hate.
There is nowhere to flee
yet I do not belong.

B.K. Birch’s publishing credits include Wildchild Publishing with two Editor's Choice Award wins, Copperfield Review, Penwomanship, Bygone Days, Mid-South Review and Emerging Women Writers. Her poetry has been published extensively in the U.S. and abroad. She writew book reviews for Midwest Book Review and She is the founding editor and publisher of The Scruffy Dog Review. Her website is

Friday, November 04, 2005

Friday's Poem: "Perfect Applie"

Perfect Apple
by Colin Galbraith

My perfect apple
soft and red
Inside, a worm
burrows and turns
tearing the flesh
The final harvest
been and gone

Colin Galbraith has seen many poems of his poems published. His first chapbook, Brick by Brick, was published in April 2005 and a second chapbook about the recent Edinburgh Festival is scheduled for publication later this year. He can be contact through his website: Colin Galbraith or his daily blog: Freedom From the Mundane.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Poetry News

I’m moving my web host, so any addresses liked to the Devon Ellington Work site will be down for the next couple of weeks, along with the site. If you want to contact me, for submissions or to add information for which I’ve asked, such as a bio, please email me here. Please place “Circadian” in the subject line.

This does not affect the actual Circadian site, which is hosted here on Blogspot. It only affects the email.

Many thanks.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Wednesday's Poem: "You"

By Rachelle Arlin Credo

You are a silhouette, hazy and gray
But a vain creation of lover's memory
A fair illusive vision everywhere displace
With a shady luster away from my yearning embrace.
You are a lamplight glimmering with a flicker of surprise
A semblance of beauty that surpasses the azure skies
Endowed with a charm with a form of airy grace
Embellishing the black immensities in a peculiar maze.
You are an innocuous moonlight angel
With the loveliness exceptionally realAcross the cold and misty moonbeam
Where no twinge of conscience can deny in any theme.
Oh, you're but a being matchless to compare
A creature so alluring, how I love to touch your hair
But alas! You glided away and faded out from my vision
And only the whispers of your heart beats in slumbrous fashion.
In the nocturne rhythm of the night
Where my perception was deceived by my sightI was swept by the waves of realization -
You are just a dream, a product of my imagination...

Rachelle Arlin Credo is a poet from the Philippines.
Her poetry has been published in various magazines and
online poetry publications.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Poetry for the Dead

Poetry for the Dead
By Cerridwen Iris Shea

This is the time of year for costume and candy and revelry. But it’s also a time to honour one’s Ancestors. Call it Samhain, All Souls’ Night or the Days of the Dead, cultures use this time of the final harvest to reconnect with bloodlines and honor their Ancestors.

What better way to honour our Ancestors and those we have loved and lost than through poetry? Revive the Bardic traditions of old.

Poetry inherently contains our souls’ rhythms. Using poetry to honour our dead, especially during this time of year, strengthens our connections to the past and to the future.

Look through your books and find a relevant poem. Sort through your favorite songs – many song lyrics are poems set to music. Write a poem – you don’t have to be Shakespeare or Elizabeth Barrett Browning to create words of love from your heart to honour those you love. Even taking a Magnetic Poetry kit and creating a ditty on the refrigerator door counts.

Life is about rhythms. Part of that rhythm includes death. By using poetry to catch the rhythm of death within the rhythms of life, it becomes less frightening, more natural, and more real.

You don’t lose the connections with those who have died – each year, you have the opportunity at this time to reconnect – through poetry. If you wish, you can even keep a notebook of favorite poems to speak each year in your ceremonies. And, should you speak or hear the poem at some other time during the year, you can feel the joy and warmth of knowing that the soul you’ve honoured is honouring you in return.

Cerridwen Iris Shea’s work has appeared in Llewellyn’s calendars and almanacs for ten years. She teaches tarot and other esoteric workshops. She wrote the magical realism serial Angel Hunt for a year and a half. Visit her blog Kemmyrk for explorations on tarot and oracle work. Her website, Cerridwen’s Cottage, is undergoing a redesign, and will re-launch in December or January.

Important information: My website is moving hosts. Until further notice, please only use this address for submissions or other correspondence, and put “Circadian” in the subject line. I will announce it again here when the move is complete and the address specific to this site is up and running again. Thank you for your cooperation and your patience.