All posts by Lo Potter

Announcement: A Hundred Different Skies – Poem on CHW

It’s just the poem – it’s now live on Coffee House Writers. A limited release hardback with fancy photography, less fancy paperback, and hardback versions of a poetry collection called “l’Identité Politique” will be made available for pre-order starting on Black Friday. These three projects may have a soft release earlier with some super secret links, so keep an eye out on Twitter and Instagram as the proofs come in.

For those that are curious about the title:

Political • Identity
(adj) /pəˈlidək(ə)l/ • (n) /ˌīˈden(t)ədē/

The aspect of one’s being relating to, affecting, or acting according to the interests of status or authority within an organization rather than matters of principle. How one relates to authority, society, and relationships. An aspect of personality determined from a young age. A pain in my father’s ass as is the family tradition.

If you are struggling with your holiday shopping list, remember that Indie Books and Art are great gifts. I’m going to start dedicating space to featured artists and authors more. Previously I didn’t have a grasp of how interviews could be misconstrued as more than just conveying information.

If you would like to have your book or art featured with a snippet about it, you, and a link to your website, please send me a DM on Twitter, Instagram, and/or email.

That’s it 🙂 That’s the whole thing.

Here’s a current draft cover for the softcover:

More details to come (and an explanation as to why A Hundred Different Skies is being released *very differently*)

Oh, and we’re going to be moving, but I think I may have mentioned that at one point? Anyways.

Have a great week ahead!

Bones – A Poem

Content warning: may be triggering to those that are experiencing emotional or traumatic struggles. Reader discretion is advised.

Photo by Sebastian Hages on Unsplash

She started smoking again
Feeling bones by finger curls
And the nauseating hunger
For someone to understand
The hard lumps under skin
And the satisfaction of a visible scapula
Under the crushing, suffocating, smothering
Weight of ten pounds
Against the pull of Earth’s gravitational force
When the greatest ally against one condition
Becomes the pain of another
Hoping that at the end of this cigarette
She will find the cremated remains
Of her claim to have it all under control


The comments section is reserved for those that feel connection with this poem to share their thoughts, feelings, and experiences. Moderation is only for preventing spam and trolls. This is a safe space.

A Lesson Never Learned – A Poem

This poem first appeared on Curensea after being written in 2007. I have made a few minor edits.

I chose this poem based on many thoughts coming up for me over my lifetime while living in the United States. I grew up in Virginia and found it strange that I could live next to a Holocaust survivor and then move to a town with an active KKK chapter other kids at the elementary school nonchalantly talked to me about their parents being members of. My parents explained what that meant when I asked. Same with the Neo-nazi rallies in Yorktown, Virginia – you know, that place where we apparently “won the Revolutionary War”. What’s so revolutionary about it anymore now that you allow those kinds of rallies there? But Virginia did. My parents felt powerless against it because the courts ruled in their favor on the grounds of Freedom Of Speech and Freedom Of Assembly and that was used to argue for social tolerance of intolerance. Now, here we are, being asked to tolerate violence against each other as that too becomes normalized.

A statue face from St. Mary’s cemetery Missoula, MT, photo by Lo Potter

A Lesson Never Learned

It came up through the floorboards,
Zyklon B reaching forward through time
Ripping at our throats,
Forming itself around our nostrils
condensing into blue ice, after being trapped in the cold
of existence.
This depressive state of humanity
Seeming only to slumber in its death
Released the gas upon itself,
Using the world as its chamber
Many can claim their innocence
-besides-
Innocence through ignorance is the best kind
While dictators commence genocidal rampages
Using ill-earned power to rape a people
destroy their very creation of a God,
And yet, for those who are suffering:

The strongest woman I (n)ever met
sat crying at the grand opening of the Holocaust Museum
She surveyed the surrounding young people
Generations too young to remember or know what
She Survived
Walking through in awe of their own misunderstandings
She looked back without a single failed memory
Her arm exposed so everyone could see:
the vining rose tattoo that grew
out of the numbers that changed her life forever


Thank you for reading this poem today. The comments section is reserved for your thoughts. Moderating is only for preventing spam/trolls – I approve as quickly as possible and approval is only needed once to post without moderation on this website.

We Are Nothing – A Poem

I first wrote this poem in 2007 in my first semester of college. The draft was the first time someone in a collegiate academic setting told me I should consider being a professional poet. I’ve never succeeded in publishing it, but those words still encourage me. Listen to your friends – let them be the voices in your head when you desperately need them.

We Are Nothing

we are nothing, but nothing –
razor-edged souls cutting through time
with a steely gasp of twilight before our instant sunset,
packaged in a plastic microwavable container with a label stating,
“just add water”
we a single individual with many minds and parts –
societal schizophrenia on a rampage.
perhaps the voice of muscle spasm can sear through your tyranny,
as you have trapped creativity and youth in oppression,
tearing them from their families
as though they were meant to be institutionalized with
bars on the windows and
locks on the doors.
Keep faith, children!
For there is always an alternative route grasping for a mind that could fathom his existence.
Outside the window is a world darkened by a starless reality,
yet lit by polluting city lights.
Red, Green, Blue
Straining for that chance to say, “Coca-Cola” in Times Square.
But this –
this is nothing.


Please feel free to comment your personal experiences openly and freely below- I reserve the comments section for that.