 On Friday 21 July, in conjunction with Montana Poetry Day and TxtCentre, the public was invited to join in the fun and text message their poetry to Central City Library's three big screens LIVE!
These were their contributions:
Lets play a game with forks and hearts and see who can stab who first. by emily rivers
1 Calorie Just for the taste of it But otherwise Minimum, bare Hale the waif She's in again this year Hale also bulimics, anorexics They're back too I hear
Save this spade. It's dug potatoes. Made concrete. Planted trees. I thought my father would live forever. The spade. at least. can be repaired. Kirsten
your poem
I run to the window and look out / why don't you see me and wave?
we are in portugal / facing the sea and talking / to the Lusitani
who's this / hand in my hand, the traveller / i do not see
I and happy when i forget / when i remember i am sad
I do not evolve, I TRAVEL. . .
the aqueduct calls out it's transparent name
and doves roll over / the white path / the stone steps
she counts ten angels / on the sarcophagus / behind the poets
reading the biblioteca on the hill
a poet from New York hammers / on the library door
we stay to the end then sit on the steps / looking at public space
that night is formed in a sidewalk cafe
Borboletas Maravilhosas / the Ladies' Anarchist Internet Choir
the letters / slip in slip out slip across / the borders
between speech / and light / Serra da Estrela
in those mountains the traveller / picks up white stones
grasshoppers
clicking about / in a great emptiness / carved out of existence
If there's one thing the traveller values
it's knowing the meaning of names
He employs a form of prayer: love lost in admiration
wooden horse in the window / how will we find our way back
when the streets have on names / we can fix to a memory
deep in the seahorse brain
i remember my childhood with tears
but They're rhythmic tears in which prose is already being formed
we have remembered / everything
even the moon / even the space taken by the moon
I am sitting with a person in the sun / outside the Brasileira
from somewhere comes the tap of a typewriter or a stick on cobbles
let me go let me go where i long where i want let me follow your call like a lighthouse like the sea like a bird flying home. By emily rivers
Sugar lets put sugar everywhere in our shoes in our toenail polish in our underpants to taste the sweetness. By emily rivers
libraries are a place to be, to explore and be free to learn, to bask in now and the past relish the r
Mini metro, i dress you naked, scratching off logos slogans and catch phrases, , i chalk you body, stretching out thoughts and objections in transien
showers shimmy like the rain's bombast and the cocksure whistlers up the autumn mast blow the leaves on by with a lazy breath
WARNING - Live poetry testing area. Proceed in an orderly fashion. Please do not feed the poets. Keep out of reach of children. -Jamie Higgins -Jamie Higgin
This is the Truth thats why you've stopped to read it
And the silence meets us,/greets us/and slips past,/ leaving behind it a hazy cloud of dust/ and I would like to speak/ but first I must/ Clear/ my/ throat
It's va va VOOM in the library room
Beware! The library is a monster; the books are its teeth. It will swallow you whole.
I am Leila. I am inside that name. It means darkness. I am inside a screen; now I'm inside your head. Don't forget me.
panic where is the leather journal. stone tape plays gently. Cards fly by. you should know. John Elliott
I always wanted to be a beatnik, but i could never stand for getting dirt under my nails. Mother never forgave me, but she accepted the porsche.
EROGENOUS ZONES I wanted my erigeron daisy/to seed everywhere & it did. /i see it flowering between/the chimney and the corrugated/iron roof. I can
chris is a hot library assistant
all of us here - are going out with library assistants - or at least we want to - and the wine is free enough - boo to the festival i just saw | 
