The Kid By Ai

and now for something completely strong

Pdlyons's Explorations

I came across this poem years ago in an anthology called;  The Outlaw Bible of American Poetry edited by Alan Kaufman and published by Thunder’s Mouth Press NY. The book by no means the be all end all , nor does it claim to be but what it is, is  a treasure trove of true Americana. Below is Ai’s poem with links to info regarding her. Here is a link regarding The Outlaw Bible – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Outlaw_Bible_of_American_Poetry

The Kid

By Ai

My sister rubs the doll’s face in mud,   

then climbs through the truck window.   

She ignores me as I walk around it,   

hitting the flat tires with an iron rod.

The old man yells for me to help hitch the team,

but I keep walking around the truck, hitting harder,   

until my mother calls.

I pick up a rock and throw it at the kitchen window,   

but it falls short.

View original post 379 more words

in those open spaces of the heart, by pd lyons

 

Where can i always meet you?

where can we always be alone?

 

those open spaces

shadow lives

summers linger

all  ghosts laugh

 

weeping is for beauty

sweet and savory.

all pain, in remedy

honey tipped restored.

 

where i always meet you

in those open spaces of the heart

 

 

 

 

In This Time of Iron by pd lyons

 

the wise

trusting themselves

work only on ways

to maintain

integrity

when I don’t write

m e i r o

My first zentangle.
August 12, 2015

created when waiting for azan (the call to pray)

-mei-

***

View original post

Lysistrata.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lysistrata

The cruelest month by Donna Snyder

poetry from the frontera

The cruelest month
In memory of Jesús Guzmán
April winds rage in with a renegade posse of dust,
weather’s bad boys intent on stealing a body’s air.
And one cruel April, Jesús was killed on Easter Monday.
Day after resurrection Sunday, he fell from Jacob’s Ladder.
It was the sudden stop that killed him.
Undoubtedly ¡Ay cabrón! frozen on his lips when he hit the ground,
a tiny blood red rose quivering alone in the wind-blasted dirt.
Jesús killed, an angel fallen from the heavens.
Declared dead on the scene, mad scientists shocked him
until his heart resumed its beat, like all fallen angels
determined to return to lost paradise.
Declared dead at the scene on Easter Monday.
Declared dead in ICU on Tuesday afternoon.
Then on the third day they took away his tubes and wires,
and his heart beat for another hour.

He fought Miss Death until they…

View original post 167 more words

Where to Submit in Apr/May 2017 by Entropy (filtered for no fee only!) – 250+ poetry markets

Trish Hopkinson

Entropy is a “website featuring literary & non-literary content. A website that seeks to engage with the literary community, that becomes its own community, and creates a space for literary & non-literary ideas.”

They recently posted an article on where to submit in April and May. Click here to read the complete article.  I’ve filtered the list below to those with no fees that accept poetry submissions and there are some paying markets. Read all the guidelines carefully before submitting your work.

If you like this post, please share with your writerly friends and/or follow my blog or like my Facebook page. You can see all the FREE resources my blog offers poets/writers on my Blog Tour page. 

---

The following listings from the article are still open, have no fees, and accept poetry submissions:

Presses:

BlazeVOX / Year-Round / Poetry, Fiction

Calamari Archive / Now / All Genres

Fog Machine

View original post 2,718 more words

rough approximation

Pdlyons's Explorations

and if we sleep this night
will the tomorrow we awake to
be different from what dream

can we know either of us
we are the same
can we know either of us
again

what is ever changing
can it be ever known

what is never changing

can it ever be us

View original post

The Great God Pan Is Dead by pd lyons

 

photographer unknown

 

Within the pages of illusion,

Before the glass of no reflection,

The sensuous form of her adoration,

(White on blonde)

Rises to the occasion of the

Mysterious relation between,

The pale worship of a

Vanishing god and the blue

Whispers of her blood.

As fevered as silk in cedar,

Fanatical as dew dipped spider webs;

She’s come and gone.

Her absence heavy in the spicy

Dust of death, where her foot steps

Spell out the haunting word

Amen

 

1987