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Claiborne Schley Walsh, world traveled and a native of
Mobile, Alabama. Has written since she could
hold one of those BIG #2 pencils and write on a Big Chief Tablet. To the chagrin of her
teachers, she wrote her first short story in
the third grade. She belongs to: the Pensters Writing
Society, The Alabama State Poetry Society, The Mississippi State Poetry Society, the
National Poetry Society and the Poetry Society of America.
When writing, she says she tries to sit down and write as many associated
ideas and poems as possible from different viewpoints (humor, realism, emotionalism,
abstract, et al). She has been published by the Red Bluff Review Anthology, MindFire,
Rattlesnake Review, RadioFree Topeka, Poetry Cafe, ShowemAll, Stazja's Austin Poets
newsletter, Poetic Voices, IP Magazine, and many others. She has also organized, managed,
and underwritten, two OnLine Poets Tours as well as participated in others in Jackson,
Boston, Savannah, Pass Christian. She has performed in colleges, elementary schools, high
schools, coffee houses and bookstores. |
Claibie met the poetic challenge as offered up by J. Nelson Watts (this weeks feature)... could not help but love it...
This is in response to J. Nelson Watts in
Poetic License about the cracked
Little fingers pointed up,
we drink blindly
but in a mannerly fashion
from watered down, weakened tanic solutions.
Social and political teabags wrung too many
times
and used again.
Watered down by apathy, hate
and misinformation
we suck up gallons of newspaper pap,
and political lies, not missing the demise
of delicate, democratic, eggshell china
structure.
Satisfied with simple, saccharin solutions,
promises of a gentler, kinder tea
and false chamomille chants.
Not seeing teacup
fissures
or leaking liquids
of "new
and improved " cups,
"so much better than our parents!"
we say, our hue and cry.
We continue this
teaparty in a room held dark
by our own beliefs
in squeezed out government grounds.
I hold the old red, white and blue teacup
of our Uncles
up to the light
with anger and tears in my eyes
and wonder how anyone
can ever see it as whole again.
© 1998 Claiborne Schley Walsh