Two girls, see, Deborah and Cara, too far

apart to meld words, so their poem lips are

bifurcated, which in poetry is

enjambment, clamor for a new critique group,

from a tri-county of poets, grab Lori and Paul

from another cluster, Meryl and Linda from

the worded winds of teaching and editing,

Gary the Prof (Barbra's too busy), Stephen who is

someone's relative, eight to start, who would seldom

be unanimous about anything, except smiles

of respect for words that dance, measures of rhythms,

inner lives exposed in hieroglyphs of poem.

Even their name, No Names, was voted upon (4-4 and a coin toss)

when no other title would do, nothing god forbid geographic,

nor similar to anything else, nor words already

spoken. So we called ourselves No Names and until this anthology

haven't used the title since. For what? We are

who we are. Plus additions, Lenny a page of Florida

poetry history, Sally and Margie who we discovered

in poetry workshops, Barbra the prof

who finally retired and has time. We meet. We

critique. If four of us agree that a line

should be deleted, at least one of us will feel

those words are the most important line in the poem.

A blithe balance. Then we go to dinner. To a

nameless place at least two of us don't like.

To the reader go our roils. Enjoy.

Sept 12, 2009 plus seven orbits around the sun…