Monday, April 24, 2017

A Writer's Lament, a prose poem by Mac Greene

A Writer’s Lament, or Ten Years Among the Wordmongers                                                                                 - dedicated to David Shumate* and Tracy Mishkin**
by Mac Greene

       So, here I am, a word bumbler trying to transform into an emerging writer, crawling
through the smashing surf onto one of the endless islands in the Archipelago Poetico. My Grand Canyon poem washes up in Hawaii. The zombie piece rots on Deadman’s Rock. Several haiku gardens blossom in Japonesia. I land a Christmas tree and a raft of ravens on Wilderness Isle, just as waves slam me down and pull me back to sea. My chapbook lights up the phosphorescentalgae, and then fizzles in the pounding waves. Drums and orators vociferate around all-night campfires on SlamBam as my rap poem bobs in a craft beer bottle. I steer clear of the broken crags and ivory towers of MFAland, especially Solipsism Reef and Overly Mannerd.

       Writers emerge from water spouts and whirlpools, only to be dragged back into the surf, sand in the crotch of our swimsuits, fighting against rip currents and flesh-eating jellyfish. I hear the mad cackling of Prosapomia Absurdia, where Neruda opened his briefcase and the room filled with seagulls* and porpoises suck strawberry daiquiris at poolside bars. The Poet Laureate asks Ronald for directions to McDonalds and reserves an AirB&B with a chatty fox squirrel. She is serenaded by a cello full of bumble bees**, while ants build empires beneath her feet. Forever emerging, I retreat on a shark-bitten surfboard searching for the mythical Sanity Isles in the Peach Glow Sea.


References:
High Water Mark, “All Seas Belong to Neruda,” by David Shumate, University of Pittsburgh Press, 2004
I almost didn’t make it to McDonalds, by Tracy Mishkin, Finishing Line Press, 2014
Sleeping with the squirrels” by Tracy Mishkin, Zingara Poet (online), Fall, 2016


From the poet: “As you can see in Writer's Lament, Mac Greene hopes to become an emerging writer. He has eclectic interests, as most of the references in Writer's Lament are actual poems that have been published in an eclectic array of magazines. In his day job he is a Clinical Psychologist specializing in teenagers and gender issues.”

Monday, April 17, 2017

Poetic Seductress, a poem by Jay S Zimmernan

Poetic Seductress
by Jay S Zimmerman

A seductress
       dressed in poetry
her sheer exquisite words flow
         over her shoulders
                     cling to her body,
              leave only a cleavage of metaphors
    
Similes danced like ballerinas
             in the curls of her hair
Her lips pouted passionate penetrating alliterations
               and her thighs
provocatively pressed
          against her dress       
                               in a hyperbole of passion
Her mouth opened and
    she licked her red wet lips
           with the sweetness of sonnets

All this left him weak with longing
He sat there
          composing himself
His words lacked
    the luxurious loveliness
                    of her musical images
Tears filled his eyes
          he felt lost and consumed
                        in her flowing stanzas

He longed to be enveloped
            in couplets
He wished to lie against her
           enjambments and caress her
    line by line
But he was afraid
And only upon putting down his pen
Could he rise and tell her
       "I love you"





Bio: Jay S Zimmerman came to poetry from his life as a visual artist, composing poems to go with his art, finding as much joy in painting with words as with other visual tools. He has recently been published in Matryoshka Poetry, Three Line Poetry, I am not a silent poet, Curly Mind, and Flying Island, New Verse News, Quatrain.Fish and Rats Ass Review. He is an artist, photographer, psychologist and social justice advocate.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Villainy of a Villanelle, by Frederick Michaels

Villainy of a Villanelle
by Frederick Michaels

I spend long days in poetic hell
seeing my best wrote rhyme and verse
tortured at length by a villanelle.

Pushed near a suicide farewell,
suffering pain from this writer’s curse,
I spend long days in poetic hell.

In twists that gypsy-read palms foretell,
words written simple take turns perverse,
tortured at length by a villanelle.

Poem cut lean like an empty shell,
or still rife with fat — I’m not sure the worse.
I spend long days in poetic hell.

Words have life, why don’t they rebel?
Verbs have a calling inaction subverts,
tortured at length by a villanelle.

Rigors of my art to this form still compel
despite endless drafts toted off in a hearse.
I spend long days in poetic hell,
tortured at length by a villanelle.

Bio: Frederick Michaels writes in retirement from his home in Indianapolis. His poetry has appeared in Flying Island, So It Goes Literary Journal, The Boston Poetry Journal, Branches magazine and Lone Stars magazine, among others. A number of his poems are included in the anthologies Reckless Writing 2012 and 2013 (from Chatter House Press, Indianapolis) and Naturally Yours (edited and self-published by Stacy Savage and Kathy Chaffin Gerstorff). His first book of poems, Potholes In the Universe, was recently published by Chatter House Press, Indianapolis. An engineer by training, Michaels has always been pulled to the side of the arts by his love of written words and the challenge of painting sense and feeling with them.


Monday, April 3, 2017

If Sylvia Plath Had Been on Facebook, a poem by Rosemary Freedman

If Sylvia Plath Had Been on Facebook
by Rosemary Freedman

If Sylvia Plath had been on Facebook
And Columbus had GPS
And Einstein had a laptop

They might have googled each other
Or become friends—
And Columbus could have picked up Sylvia
With her mussed up hair—
Wishing she looked like Gwyneth Paltrow
And had free tickets to Coldplay

He might have reached under her arms
And dragged her to his boat
Her heels digging in as he dragged her
Like the wicked witches feet sticking from
Under the house—
Under the house—
Sylvia was there once too.

He might have dragged her to a boat
Where Einstein waited patiently
With his laptop
And they could have Mapquested

To somewhere peaceful
Where poems are all understood
And discovered together
With the GPS
That the world is indeed flat.


About Rosemary Freedman: “I am educated with a BA in Creative Writing and Literature from IU and also have a BS in Nursing, as well as master’s level degrees and work as a nurse practitioner and clinical nurse specialist. I am married and have seven children. I enjoy writing, photography, reading and gardening.