Hope Dream

Last night, total kleptomania, I tucked 
the universe down in my shorts then I ran
–scattering rogue, fleeing the scene, flat out quick. 
No one was looking. 

Soon I found a back street fog to slip into.
Home-free, I caught clawing cimmerian sounds
–that bopping cats do scratching doors wanting in. 
Got me to thinking, 

were those dream kittens? That’s when I checked my pants. 
The universe was not there. I had dropped it. 
And that’s when I began to wonder, what’s now 
keeping me running? 

Physics? I thought I knew gravity, how to 
suspend whims; we can’t be spontaneous till 
we get our shit done. Our scale, mass, magnitude,
like poems, had meaning. 

And love, its buoyancy, its stretchiness, its 
cool hell; thought I knew clouds, like Joni Mitchell,
but now with life’s illusions lost, what were clouds? 
Everything? Nothing? 

The universe–all of space, time, planets, stars, 
galaxies, all the matter and energy,
known and unknown spacial events–gone,
no longer happening.  

All, I’m sorry for losing the universe 
in a dream. I will try to snooze better in 
the future–-if there is a tomorrow in 
this dream. Here’s hoping. 

New Music of the Day – CLXXIV: Fill Me Up – Amilia K Spicer

Dancing About Architecture

If the term “Americana” conjures clichéd images of long, dusty highways, clapboard churches and hoedowns in truck stop bars, then you need Amilia K Spicer in your ears…and indeed your life! Whilst blending the heartland sounds of America – lilting country grooves, folky acoustica and a gentle but persistently driving rock beat – there is another, less tangible quality at work, one that breezes through the spaces between, one that is built from more elemental and primal qualities.

Yes, you can boogie the night away to the song’s jaunty goodness but as the video visualises, this is music that communes with nature that wallows in the fact that America may be a young country in respect of its society but its land is ancient.

They say that every place, every wood, every hill, every stream has a song in it if only you are silent and respectful enough to be…

View original post 37 more words

How to Be Your Own Best Poetry Editor – guest blog post by Lisa Young

Trish Hopkinson

Sometimes you get to a certain point and you just don’t know what to do with a poem. You might have many drafts and you don’t know what’s working anymore. You’ve lost perspective. And on top of that, maybe you’re surrounded by a whole bunch of other discarded poems that aren’t working either and you’re getting different critiques and you don’t know who to believe and you’ve kind of lost your mind.

I’m going to give you an exercise to help you deal with that situation.

Many people say one of the best ways to deepen your craft is to read in your genre, so in this case, go out there and read poetry. But I’m going to make it a little more specific in order to help you be your own best poetry editor.

Exercise: Read three different literary magazines and find a poem in each one of them that…

View original post 652 more words

Festive Haggis Recipes for your Christmas Feast

Haggis UK

Fancy adding some Scottish spice to Christmas Day? Here are some traditional and more innovative takes on festive haggis dishes, complete with links to recipes and famed Scottish foods that will work a treat around the turkey.

 

Haggis sausage rolls are a greater winter warmer, and work well as canapes on Christmas Day.

Vegetarian Haggis and Mustard Bites

Whip up these dinky morsels created by Jacqueline Meldrum and serve them as canapes with your pre-dinner drinks. All you need is haggis, puff pastry, and wholegrain mustard (perhaps with added whisky to add a little zip)

Serve with a malt and redcurrant dipping sauce.

 

Turkey with haggis stuffing by Delicious Magazine

Haggis Stuffed Turkey

Combine good quality haggis with apple, sage and fresh breadcrumbs to add rich earthy flavours to your Christmas roast.

 

Warm Vegetarian Haggis Salad
This warm vegetarian salad is a fresh and flavoursome alternative…

View original post 84 more words

Perfect Gift for the Holidays: Dark Sandwiches

Christmas is not too far off. So, why not give Dark Sandwiches to those you love? And while you’re at it, also give Dark Sandwiches to those you don’t like all that much. It’s the perfect gift for everyone.

“Dark Sandwiches is whimsical, radical and wonderfully weird. If David Lynch, John Lennon and Edward Corey had a literary threesome, their love child might look something like this. Make no mistake, Gresham is a wholly original American voice.” Edward E Romero, writer, and director

 

Get it. https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1502790491/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i1

 

 

Check out the Petrichor

Home

Here’s what’s written on their Home Page. I like them.

Our poetics

We at petrichor welcome established writers, newbies, outsiders, and all points in between. Ours is a free and open archive, seeking to promote bold identities, othered voices, and whispers in the darkness that want to be loud. We encourage work that makes us think, feel, and even go “huh?” We like surprises.

When words aren’t enough, we like work that incorporates visual elements into textual frames. The letter as a symbol, the word as a sign, we love these as well.

Looking for references or maybe kindred spirits? Check out our Kinfolk tab to see who we love.

Estorninos

Un domingo, me froté el sueño de los ojos moriscos, me eché la ropa y los zapatos, el desayuno cocinado: huevos de papas con chorizo, tostadas y té de yerba caliente. Sin jugo de naranja, pero me desperté con este viejo himno pegado en mi cabeza.

Would you be free from
the burden of sin? There’s pow’r
in the blood. Power…

Estorninos Un domingo, me froté el sueño de los ojos moriscos, me eché la ropa y los zapatos, el desayuno cocinado: huevos de papas con chorizo, tostadas y té de yerba caliente. Sin jugo de naranja, pero me desperté con este viejo himno pegado en mi cabeza. Mirando el cielo por la ventana de la cocina, observé estorninos, muchos estorninos; Oh, tantos estorninos posados ​​en cables eléctricos de nuevo. Después de quemar mi labio en el té, pasé muchos minutos imaginando un montón de razones por las que las aves podían posarse en líneas como esa. Oklahoma tenía árboles perfectamente bien. Sin embargo, estos estorninos recogieron cables para todos sus asientos alineados en toda la ciudad. ¿Por qué hicieron eso? Solo me decidí por esto: estas aves anhelaban, como yo, un lugar seguro para sentarse cerca del poder. No hay energía en los cables; Eso sería ridículo. Les gustaba el poder en solidaridad.

Would you be whiter,
much whiter than snow? There’s pow’r
in the blood. Power…

Así que me propuse asistir a una iglesia, por qué no. Al llegar demasiado pronto para el gran servicio, un diácono me entregó una etiqueta con el nombre y luego me dirigió hacia algo llamado un grupo de adultos para el debate, el tema: la frontera mexicana. Sin estar preparado, escuché al líder de la discusión ya las otras personas reunidas allí. La charla fue que solo hay un idioma: el inglés. No lo sabía, pero sí, sí, sí! Y, “Los restaurantes están bien”, dijo un hombre, “pero los mexicanos deben irse”. Fue una emergencia.

Would you be whiter,
much whiter than snow? There’s pow’r
in the blood. Power…

Pasé mis ojos por los rostros evangélicos de las personas en los bancos. Todos tuvieron la oportunidad de hablar su inglés. Nadie hablaba francés, alemán, chino ni ninguno de los otros idiomas que podrían haber tenido. Fue un evento único en inglés. Me pasé una mano por la frente y luego por el pelo. Entiendo; sin embargo, no lo hice, pájaros de una pluma, supongo, solo en una jaula. Mi mente se escapó por un momento; Los pensamientos simplemente salieron volando y aterrizaron en un lugar diferente en mi cabeza. Una vez allí, me conté en silencio la historia de mi madre y cómo, durante las últimas oleadas de deportaciones de Eisenhower, mi padre apalache se casó con ella y la trajo a los Estados Unidos. 

Sin-stains are lost in
its life-giving flow; There’s won-
derful pow’r in the…

Nunca volví a esa Iglesia desde la charla del líder de discusión. No lo quiero. Por lo que valía, todavía me levantaba temprano los domingos, me vestía, preparaba el desayuno y miraba por la ventana el clima donde de vez en cuando veía a los estorninos posados ​​con electricidad. Un ave volaba, se lanzaba en redondo, recogía algo en el suelo, miraba a su alrededor y luego volaba de nuevo para sentarse con los amigos sobre los cables. Envidiaba a esos estorninos alineados en líneas eléctricas con todo su poder. Pero yo, solo desayunaba y luego me relajaba en el sofá con un control remoto hojeando los canales de cable. Luego, otros domingos, me dirigía a la casa de mi madre, donde nos sentábamos a ver los programas en Telemundo TV.

There is pow’r, pow’r, won-
der-working pow’r in the
precious blood of the…

PN Review

Hollie McNish

PN Review

I realise this may be copyright and if so, then PN Review please let me know and I will gladly remove this.

I normally post links if people write nice things about my poems, so I think it’s only right to post the absolute reverse as well. I’ve had my share of hate – both aimed at my writing and also just at me as a person or my face or my voice and accent or whatever.

I am fine that many people dislike my poems – of course they do – I dislike a lot of them. I normally don’t reply to these sorts of articles, because I am happy to have my writing critiqued in any way. But when something like this is printed in a very prestigious literary magazine which goes further than any writing critique to make assumptons about my (lack of) education, my…

View original post 10,095 more words

The Brave New World of 1984

chameleonfire1

1. Entertained to Death

“Once a government is committed to the principle of silencing the voice of opposition, it has only one way to go, and that is down the path of increasingly repressive measures, until it becomes a source of terror to all its citizens and creates a country where everyone lives in fear.” —Harry S. Truman

It’s a scene straight out of a dystopian novel. After Kellyanne Conway defended White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer’s use of the term “alternative facts,” sales of George Orwell’s novel 1984 soared, driving it to the top of Amazon’s bestseller list. This isn’t the first time real world events have intersected with the long afterlife of the book. According to the Washington Post, “Sales of the novel also enjoyed a marked spike in 2013—one edition experiencing a 10,000 percent jump in sales—following the leak of National Security Administration documents.”[1] Given the…

View original post 4,115 more words

Dragon Poet Review Winter/Spring 2018 Issue is Out

via Winter / Spring 2018 Issue