It is my distinct honor to have a poem included in the June 2021 issue of Anti-Heroin Chic. There are some amazing poets in this issue that really blew my mind with their raw truth and story telling skills. There is powerful work in this issue. You can read my poem “A Poem for the Lost Poems” here. But definitely check out Victoria Ruiz, Krys Walls, and Carrie Elizabeth Penrod.
It has been a long time since I posted and though I often vow to keep up with this website, it does run away from me. Life has been happening. Lots of life. I had been in a long distance relationship for a year and I have been in this situation before on many occasions, but this one was different. The love was there for sure, but the reality of it ever being the sort of traditional relationship society covets was way off the mark. There were too many factors working against us.
I have always been the type to want to be friends when a relationship has ended, because for me to fall in love, there had to be a friendship first. I believe sometimes people can mistake that feeling of deep friendship for relationship/romantic love. A deep connection with another person can give you the feels. After an anniversary trip to Virginia which was fifty-fifty on its good and bad parts, I ended the romantic relationship. It was a hard decision, but we were both miserable in the place the relationship had gone, and I knew he would never cut the rope.
This ending proved to give us a new beginning. We still love each other and the desire to go out into the world and adventure never left us. Traditional relationships are not for everyone and the push to have something like that is hard to ignore especially if you are surrounded by people who buy into those ideas. There is nothing wrong with finding the person you love, getting married, and living out your lives together. It is a beautiful and wonderful thing. For me, the closed ended commitment feels like a millstone, a suffocation, a resentment. Who wants that?
My life has been full of traumas both big and small. It makes me hard to live with and a bit feral when pushed in the corner to conform. I’m not radical person, but I like the freedom to move about in my own world without the permission of someone else, or having to expressly curtail what my heart desires. I did that for my whole life. This last leg of my years I want to enjoy the journey.
He and I have planned adventures for the rest of the year in places neither of us have ever been. There will be hiking and disc golf, exploring towns and events, and acting like carefree children. Neither of us had a childhood that anyone wants to hear about and this is a chance for us to regain that time and enjoy what nature has to offer.
On a writing front, I have not been submitting much poetry but I have been writing it. I have been reading books, editing my novel, loving my cats, spending time with my kid, playing disc golf, and working at the hospital. In July, I am going on a 20 mile, 2 night hike on the Finger Lakes Trail. It is something I’ve never done before but have always wanted to do. This will be a challenge of letting things go and accepting what my body can or cannot do. I am here to dive into the present moment. I am here to live with a sense of freedom and wonder. In these times where Covid has taken so much from us, I am taking something back.
I hope to submit more work so I can tell you about it if it gets published. Thanks for sticking with me even through the quiet times. Be kind to each other. Stay safe. Write often.
It is my great pleasure to be published in Heroin Love Songs XI, both online and soon to be in print. My poems Cracked Roads and Empty Skies, I’ll Lose It All in the End, The Wisdom of Johnny Cash, and W to the Third Power are available for viewing at Heroin Love Songs. Please stop by and read all the amazing work by other featured poets as well and support small press when the print version comes out. These zines are a labor of love for most editors and they appreciate your support. Thanks to Jack Henry for including me in this issue.
I am happy to announce my poem “Lofty Notes of Pine” appears in the anthology “the flower shop on the corner” from Red Penguin Collective. It is an anthology full of poems based on and around nature. You can pick it up on Amazon here for $3.99. It is 112 pages of poetry. Thank you for supporting writers and poetry.
I’m not sure where I found this book of poetry by Jamison Crabtree, or how long ago it was, but I finally got around to finishing it. The book rel[am]ent is divided into sections of laments to various universal monsters with a large poem in the center called “golem” and finishes with “relent.”
Themed books of poetry are a risk and often I am not willing to take such a risk. I like poems that fit together, but I am never sure how the public feels about these things. In my own life I have created several collections based on themes, but I have not felt comfortable releasing them into the world. This collection of poems by Jamison Crabtree works on several levels. He writes laments for characters of movies that multi-generations can identify with like Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Blob.
The reader, by title alone, arrives with preconceived notions based on how well they know each of the characters, but then they get surprised by how connected yet disconnected the poems are to each of them. The writer interjects himself into the role of each character as if he were in the room with them, thus morphing the lament into something more personal.
There are great individual lines and stanzas encapsulated in this book, but on a whole there were only three poems in their entirety that touched me. The pieces of the poems that I enjoyed cut me and gave me something to think about however when surrounded by words that were less than connected or intense, it made the poem in its entirety fall a bit flat for me.
I think this is a collection that will hit people in different places depending on their experiences and background. It reminds me of the type of poetry I wrote in college in the early 90s where life ticked by in fractured light and poems felt like clips of film shown out of order or with the sound reel missing. This collection provided me with nostalgia on two levels.
Jamison Crabtree’s rel[am]ent can be found at The Word Works. He was the winner of the 2014 Washington Prize.
“lament for dracula”
you carve ghosts into bus-stop benches you, to cry into the barrel of your guns.
I have the distinct pleasure of being a part of a wonderful new literary magazine called South Shore Review. It is based in Nova Scotia and is filled with great fiction, essays, non-fiction, and poetry. It features beautiful photographs and art. If you would like to read my poem, “Our Labored Breaths,” then click the hyperlinked title. They do have a tip jar linked to the website if you’d like to contribute to the work they do.
Awkwardly, Diane held the woman’s dead hand trying to slide off the wedding rings. Her skin, like cold clay, gave resistance. The gold circle spun, a large document , uploading. She looked away with sudden 2 am ineptitude. He stood at the bedside, his warm fingers over Diane’s were a rescue.
“I put them on,” he said, “I’ll be the one to take them off.”
Ever since I was a young girl, I was fascinated with Picasso. There is something inspiring about the child-like way he approaches the canvas. I have always kept in mind that the little girl inside me that always wanted to be an artist could find her way. Much of my life has been about writing and creating with the word, but 20 years ago my ex-mother-in-law taught me how to cross stitch while I was pregnant and unable to work. I started out with small kits and made English cottages the size of refrigerator magnets. One year, I was given a software program that allowed me to move away from the traditional country kitsch that is found in cross stitch to be able to do portraits and anything I can photograph.
Though I haven’t always agreed with the way Picasso treated women or the way he lived his life, I couldn’t help but do his portrait. His face is deeply interesting. This portrait captures some of the pain all artists feel in the endeavor to let their creativity out.
This piece is 6.25 inches by 5 inches and is matted locally by my favorite art and frame shop to fit an 8 x 10 frame. I spent about 120 hours on this piece and am asking $60.00 plus shipping (in the US only, international can be worked out). If interested, please contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
I started reading this book in 2020, but did not get to finish it. I’ve had quite a few holdovers from the year before as I read too many books at once and then not finish them. I chose The Polish Boxer by Eduardo Halfon from the shelves of a used book sale. I liked the simplicity of the cover and how the smoke swirled across it. The way the title is in a hazy script made me feel as if there were an impermanence to the words.
Sometimes I choose books this way knowing nothing about the book or the author. I never read blurbs or jacket covers. I don’t want to know about the book before I read it and sometimes the cliff notes of what should drag me into the book, puts me off.
This book is written like a stream-of-consciousness style of writing because there are no dialogue tags, no notation that anyone is speaking. This is a narrator driven book through its entirety. Had I known this before I started reading, I would have closed the book and passed it on to someone else, which is why I don’t read blurbs. I need these challenges sometimes.
There is a deep sense of searching in the pages of The Polish Boxer. There is a hunger for life and for knowing. These are the things that kept me in this non-traditional fiction book. It is a book in which a character finds himself through the search for another person. It is a journey of disappointment and self-discovery. Once you get past the lack of dialogue tags and settle into what the author is trying to tell you, I think you will enjoy the ride.
I’m pulling this one out of the way back machine. It was originally written in 2008 and published somewhere, though the place escapes me without searching records. I’ve always loved the power of dreams to tell me something about myself. I can still remember this dream even though it has been 13 years. I hope you enjoy.
I once dreamed of Bob Dylan
I once dreamed of Bob Dylan in a tree house, one walled, and built from looking glass.
The old man spoke to me as leaves colored like imminent death drifted and swirled, their reflection a knowing torture, and he said
“You must walk the highway to get to the by-way.”
I blinked twice, flashing sea stones at his face (cracked and dried like mud in noon sun) as he pointed to the lines on mine that had not been written yet.