Poets are like Butterflies

The editor of Poesy Magazine proclaims on his News page that he’s “back again,” and, after 18 months of downtime, he’s “continuing Poesy and returning refreshed, rested and with a vengance to make an impact.”  Except that was posted 5 months ago and there doesn’t seem to be any activity since. 

Ah, well.  I know what it’s like to burn out on a project; I myself am the proud owner of a number of abandoned blogs and social networking pages strewn far and wide across the internet.  Anyway, the good news is that you can still read some cool stuff on the site, including several featured poems from the last issue.

Photo courtesy Asumann at Stock.Xchnge

Following is an excerpt from a poem called “Poem for David Church” by A.D. Winans.  It is from a memorial poem written for a poet who passed away:

poets are like butterflies
inhabiting temporary space
tasting the pollen of life
spreading their wings
reshaping the stars the universe
cosmic matter waiting to be reborn

Someone Else’s Things

I read a lot of poetry I don’t like.  Some days I get lucky and find something good right away; other days, I have to plow through a mountain of bad poetry in my search for that one poem that will bring a smile to my lips.  Today was one of those “mountain of bad poetry” days, but I finally found what I was looking for.  It’s a short poem called Someone Else’s Things by Ann Alexander, and it appears at Magma Poetry Online.  Take a moment to click through and read it.

No Third Date

Okay, I wasn’t even sure I liked this online magazine upon first perusal, but now it is quickly becoming one of my favorites.  It’s quirky, strange, a little silly, and perhaps an acquired taste, but one I’ve now grown to love.

Don’t miss the poem by Marilyn Letts called No Third Date at Feathertale.com.  The last line/last reason for not having a third date was the best and had me chuckling.

The Orange Room Review

Thank you to Justin Hyde for sending me an email and turning me on to the online poetry journal, The Orange Room Review.  (Yes, I am getting some emails, but I’m not sure if I’m getting all emails, so if you’ve sent me one and think I’m ignoring you, I probably didn’t receive it.  Or possibly I actually am ignoring you and using this as an excuse. 😉 )  Anyhoo…

Justin has another exceptional poem (I don’t think he writes any other kind) published in the current edition called she told me her mother slept with a revolver.  This is one of those poems where an excerpt wouldn’t do it justice — you have to read it as a whole to get the full impact, so go click on the link above.

Interestingly and coincidentally, the current issue also features a poem by Zachary Bush who was just featured in a recent post here at A Bunch of Wordz.  The poem is called My First Week at the Boys Boarding School.

Also, check out Before Dawn by Elliot Richard Dorfman.  I like the rhythmic flow he achieved in this short poem and the way he put his words together to convey a certain kind of feeling to go along with what he had to say.  Here are a few lines:

“In the dark, the mellow chimes
of my clock strike the hours.
I feel serene and transfixed in a world that
seems to be mine, alone.”

I know I have a few regular readers who are writers themselves, so I thought it worth mentioning that the turnaround for submissions at this magazine is unusually fast at between 1 and 14 days — good news if you’re looking for a quick response to your poetry submittal.

We Swallow(ed) Spiders in our Sleep

The latest edition of Word Riot is out, and a review caught my eye because of the title of the book:  We Swallow(ed) Spiders In Our Sleep.  The book is a collection of poems by Zachary C. Bush, and you can read the review here, which includes a few excerpts.  I gather that the reviewer, Christopher Cunningham, is a bit of a poet himself, judging from the opening sentence of his article:

“Zachary C. Bush’s hallucinatory poems, riddled with unexpected word choices, strong images, the occasional foray into surrealism and the razor edges of a hard young life being lived are the songs of an adventurous poet determined to squeeze each drop of lyrical imagination from the sun-burned, needle-pricked, aching skin of existence.”

Wow.  If I ever manage to get a collection of my own poetry together, I’ll have to remember to send a copy to him for review.

Unfortunately, like most poetry chapbooks, it’s not available on mass market sites like amazon.com.  The book is published by Pudding House Publications, but is not listed on their early 90’s-style webpage either (frames? really??) for some reason.  The author advises in his blog to contact Jen@puddinghouse.com to order a copy.

Following are pieces of poems I found by Bush in online magazines.  I’m not sure if these poems are published in his book or not, but these should give you a feel for his writing style.  The first excerpt is from Expelling Angels(s) as published in The CommonLine Project:

Love was spending Sunday
Mornings in bed wrapped in you,
Laughing at the weeping angels
Blanket curled, leaned against
The grey brick corner of my mind, holding
Soggy cardboard signs that read:

[Will Work for Some Pity]

And this one is from a poem called 18. as published on the  cleverly named site, Unlikely 2.0.

Blindfold her        tight, not to allow light.
Strip her               slowly.
Lay her                on granite couches clothed in velvet.
Tie her                  limbs with maroon sash.
Offer her              drinks flavored with peppermint and sweat.

I will be keeping my eye on this talented writer and also keeping my fingers crossed that his next book is a little easier to get my hands on.

Off Course

This is from a poem is called Hard Labor by Rebecca Lu Kiernan and appears in a 2005 edition of the literary journal, Off Course:

“I would crawl over uncharted shipwrecks,
Frozen tundra, rip tides,
To touch you in the dance
Of bent cobalt willows
Tremulous in the grey December rain.

I would walk the fractures
Of thinly frozen lakes
To taste you
In the cotton candy pink light
Of the year’s final sunset.”

Go here to read the rest of this poem or see other poems written by the same author.

Here is an exerpt from the current edition — a poem called Fashion Secretaries by Chris Crittenden:

“smiles that tilt like teapots
steeping words in fluff,
red and apple-sexed,

limber when pursed.”

Go here to read the rest of Crittenden’s poem and other poetry by this author.

Two Random Moments

Lyn Cannaday’s work has been featured on this blog before.  She’s a talented writer, and I’d like to do my part to help her get exposure.  She recently had a poem published at poeticdiversity called Two Random Moments.  Here’s an excerpt:

“My heart tripped on the history of tuffets and cheap horror films
Where cameras magnify tiny bodies.
Then I paused and saw the petite, dark body
delicately balanced at the center of those questing legs
like a dancer flowing gracefully across the stage of my sweaty arm”

Visit the above link to read the entire piece.