Category Archives: Uncategorized

when I don’t write


m e i r o

My first zentangle.
August 12, 2015

11224726_963040857072146_4745129102323570254_n.jpg
created when waiting for azan (the call to pray)

-mei-

***

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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…

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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

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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

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Box Set by pd lyons


Pdlyons's Explorations

Box Set

Stopped in the library
Wandered around while I waited for Morgan to be ready.
Picked up a set of Kerouac CD’s
Poetry I never knew before.

Later back at home
Read the liner notes
Small town
Factories gone
Smoke n drink
A loner dedicated to the written word
Inter-racional national vagrant
Working class lover

It was pretty scary stuff.

Put one on.
Sat down at the kitchen table with a cuppa
Got up washed dishes
Clean counters
Sat down poured another cup
Thought, well I like the energy, the piano, the urgent lone ranger
Plugged into by the muse trying to express every electrical inch
But I don’t think I really got it
Which came as a relief because after all I was quite happy to still be purely me.

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this version was published by

Railroad Poetry Project Manifesto   issues 2. 2011-12. they were a blog-zine…

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Off The Book Shelf/ Poets We Should Know


Pdlyons's Explorations

IMG_1262So the other day I picked this little gem off the shelf and discovered Robert Louis Stevenson – the poet. I have had this book for a while now maybe 10 – 15 years bought it some where in America for .25 cents. It has only two poems by RLS; Requiem and The Vagabond. I think they both show just how ballsy a poet he was. Today as I was putting this blog together Shelly  posted on my face Book page about Tom Crean the Irish Sailor & Antarctic explorer. The inscription on Toms grave – Home is the sailor, home from sea. You can still drink at Toms Crean’s Pub ( he opened a pub once he retired from the sea) The last time I was there they pulled a very fine pint.

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

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Crean_%28explorer%29 

THE GOLDEN TREASURY

of

Songs and Lyrics

selected from the best songs and…

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three love poems by pd lyons originally published by bone orchard poetry


Pdlyons's Explorations

DSC_0350
As Long As Its You
 
When you breathe it is my name.
When you stare,
Your own eyes black pools,
Liquid movements synchronize my own.
Who knows me any better?
Naked throat? Beating heart?
You may heal. You may feed.
Whatever you do, as long as its you.


Neptunian
My ugliness raised in both hands
Almost expecting something from you
And if only I had a gun I woulda’ made you
And hated myself forever for being so desperate
If only I could believe 
Then how easy it would be
Walking away leaving you alone
Free at last to wander endless starry nights I always dream of
Instead I let you
 Tattoo blue around my mouth
  Tell me that I’m privileged
   


 After Last Call
Puke my guts out in the after last call parking lot
Of the now what am I gonna do
Still hometown married jails

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Elliott O’Donnell ~ How to Become a Werewolf


DM du Jour

In some people lycanthropy is hereditary; and when it is not hereditary it may be acquired through the performance of certain of the rites ordained by Black Magic. For the present I can only deal with the more general features of these rites (which vary according to locality) and the conditions of mind essential to those who would successfully practise these rites. In the first place, it is necessary that the person desirous of acquiring the property of lycanthropy should be in earnest and a believer in those superphysical powers whose favour he is about to ask.

Assuming we have such an individual he must, first of all, betake himself to a spot remote from the haunts of men. The powers to be petitioned are not to be found promiscuously—anywhere. They favour only such waste and solitary places as the deserts, woods, and mountain-tops.

The locality chosen, our candidate must…

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porch musings from a warm kitchen


Eclipsing Winter

The bottom burst out of the thermometer and filled the air with a chill intense enough to rattle living bones. We didn’t have a winter, yet. Maybe Father Frost overslept and is getting ready to make up for lost time.

Dinner dishes wait on the kitchen counter, notable only because I insist on a clean, organized kitchen. Dad and I are binge watching The Twilight Zone from season 1 episode 1. This entertainment doesn’t lend itself to sweet dreams. I remember watching as a kid, one episode that freaked me out completely. It ruined my sleep for a week and in my mind’s eye, I still see someone peeling the skin away from their wrist to expose red and blue wires. Who knows what will happen when we reach that episode? Will I revert to childish terror or will my fears be put into perspective?

A friend sent me a…

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