a few months ago, some people in switzerland came up with paper.li, a program that organizes links shared on twitter into an easy to read newspaper-style format. newspapers can be created for any twitter user, list or #tag. (there is a fun little wordplay to the name: the “li” at the end, a sort of diminuitive, is a hallmark of switzerdeutsch, the swiss version of german.)

i think this is a neat idea. here are some examples:

the psychology daily
the mental health bloggers daily
and one i put together: the world changers daily

many years ago, i bought myself a nice, comfy, fleecy track suit. i came home with it and proudly paraded it in front of my husband. he gave me one look and didn’t talk to me for two days.

at the end of the two days, i finally found out. you see, the track suit was purple. and purple was the colour of the very outspoken lesbians and feminists in berlin, where we had just moved from. it turns out that, clad all in purple, i was aligning myself with those man-haters and therefore man-hating my husband.  (logical, huh?)

reason #359 why, a few years later, i got rid of him and traded him in for a much better model.

and what’s all this purple about?

moon is slender
and sober is
my meal.
grey cloth
and scrubbed wood.
silence.
afterwards
water runs quietly
over the plate.

by isabella mori

by your waterfall these birds,
at dusk, sigh, fluff their
feathers, nestle their
beaks close to their chest.
early spring: moon guides
blossom dust into their dreams.

by isabella mori

only this apple knows
why it is necessary to snicker
with the cold falling rain:

cold falling rain, could it be
that i’m your sister?

cold falling rain, brimming over
with goose pimples that the clouds
ordered you to show
shiver
shiver
cold falling rain, i know
how it is to brim over with goose pimples

and only this apples knows, as it diminishes,
as it hastens towards its transcendence on the compost heap,
only this apple knows i’m talking to you,
cold falling rain

cold falling rain,
it’s dark outside, dark and novemberish
cold falling rain,
there’s a part of me that’s out there with you,
i don’t know which part
and really, i kinda don’t wanna know,
cold falling rain,
and i don’t want anyone, no soul, to know
that i could be your sister
out there
in late fall, with squishy wet leaves on the road that
nobody wants to walk tonight

cold falling rain,
this apple is almost eaten
and there is a leftover core.
soon
it will land in that corner of my backyard,
forgotten,
and keep you company.

i will not be out there with you,
cold falling rain in november night,
i still have to eat lots of apples and gain
lots of fat
to be able to stand
standing out there in late fall
among squishy wet leaves
that no-one else chooses to tread.

by isabella mori

for blog action today, october 15, 2010, i am posting 15 water poems in 15 hours. this is number 13:

for blog action today, october 15, 2010, i am posting 15 water poems in 15 hours.

i drink wine. your water is heavy.
i feel light with merlot in my veins.
you feel light with nothing in your stomach.
my limbs grow heavy; a thick blanket waits for me.
your water is heavy. your mother waits for you
to cook and fetch and carry and mend.
you live there. i live here.
water runs through our bodies,
the same crystals, the same elements,
heavy and light, harsh and warm,
the same and the same, different and different.

have some wine. let me carry your water.

by isabella mori

for blog action today, october 15, 2010, i am posting 15 water poems in 15 hours.

for blog action today, october 15, 2010, i am posting 15 water poems in 15 hours. voila #10:

water under that bridge,
and until i get there:
one foot in front of the other.

by isabella mori

for blog action today, october 15, 2010, i am posting 15 water poems in 15 hours. this is poem #9, another haiku:

twelve broken lanterns
on a rainy, slippery bridge.
such pleasing, soft light.

by isabella mori

slipping into warm golden water;
late afternoon, the sun
will go down in a while.
little waves lick
glistening wet rocks.
faraway sounds of life.
here: alone with drops
moving slowly down wet cloth
clinging to body
warm in the sun.
no shivers.
no need to swim.
no need to reach for a towel.
slow, slow, only,
warm only,
only with waves,
only with drops, cloth, rock, body
moves she,
turning her face
to the sun
and to a sound
only she can hear.

by isabella mori

for blog action day today, october 15, 2010, i am posting 15 water poems in 15 hours.