Monthly Archives: March 2018

A Dose of Applause, by Jeff Bagato

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

dose-applauseA multi-media artist living near Washington, DC, Jeff Bagato produces poetry and prose as well as electronic music, glitch video, street art and pop surrealism paintings. His poetry has appeared in many journals including Empty Mirror, Otoliths, Ex Ex Lit, The New Post Literate, Gold Wake Live, and Streetcake. Short fiction has recently appeared in Gobbet and The Colored Lens. His published books include Savage Magic (poetry), Cthulhu Limericks (poetry), The Toothpick Fairy (fiction), and Computing Angels (fiction). A blog about his writing and publishing efforts can be found at http://jeffbagato.wordpress.com.

View original post

& all the 32,293*, by reuben woolley

we drown in their sick
sympathy

easy.tell them
the waves are not as cold & here

at least our bones
can stretch a goodly
fathom

where green skies
fill with fins there is
no church to disturb

the waves
we’ll raise a pretty storm
on all their mooring

sleep now / let our
deaths strengthen

deep
we’ll keep our names

* https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/german-newspaper-refugees-migrants-names-published-died-europe-try-reach-33000-people-a8047756.html

Clever Girl “Verbs that Move Mountains”, edited by Claire Trévien, reviewed by Jessica Mookherjee

I am not a silent poet

verbs that move mountains 2Clever Girl: A Review of Verbs That Move Mountains: Essays and Interviews on Spoken word cultures around the world. Edited by Claire Trevien.

 

Jessica Mookherjee; Poet, “Swell” (2016, Telltale Press), “JoyRide” (2017 Black Light Engine Room Press) “Flood” (2018 Cultured Llama). Highly Commended for Best Single Poem Forward Prize 2017. https://thejessicapoet.wordpress.com/about/

Poetry and Art

I first heard of Claire Trevien on radio four, driving home from work. She was reading from her 2014 collection “The Shipwrecked House” and I recall a little bit of my life changing. The haunting quality of the way she connected with me reminded me of what I had wanted to do as a young performance poet in my 20’s, fresh out of media school. I wanted to bring multi media poetic beauty to performance and make poetry as popular as rock music. Well, I didn’t – I was too scared, and what I…

View original post 1,842 more words

To those who say, Now he is free, by Oonah V Joslin

I am not a silent poet

(For Stephen Hawking)
..
Those
..
crippled by fear
tied to grief
stuck in rut
..
addicted
angry at the world
needy for fame but indolent
..
rich enough but not content
hungry for power
insatiable in appetite
..
preoccupied by trivialities
wrapped in self and selfies
can never be free.
..
There was no pity about his life.
He lived inside his mind.
He was never bound.

View original post

Poetry Waking, by David Chorlton

I am not a silent poet

Its early: four o’clock. Too dark
for logic. The alphabet is scattered
across the floor
and the day’s arguments
have yet to begin, but the mind
is already sorting what matters
from what does not.
……………………………Loose ends
are connecting. A train
arrives from a long ago year;
a bird seen far from its range
becomes a portent of extinction;
Russia has returned to its iron
roots; all the teacups
in the kitchen fill
…………………………..with storms
and every toy gun
kills in dreams. Soon, the televisions
will wake up and start to shout
but this is poetry’s time
to purr in a world of lions.

..

David Chorlton was born in Austria, grew up in Manchester, England, and lived for several years in Vienna before moving to Phoenix in 1978. Arizona’s landscapes and wildlife have become increasingly important to him and a significant part of his poetry. Meanwhile, he retains…

View original post 16 more words

On being a poetry fake.

Robert Garnham

I am a poetry fake.

Sure, they call me a poet. Oh, him, he’s a poet. He’s Robert Garnham, the poet. But whenever they use the word ‘poet’, they always put those little things around it. You know the ones. “”

Of all the wonderful and amazing things that a poet can do with literature and language to make them sing and dance on the page, I cannot do any of them.

My sonnets are too long.
My haiku have too many syllables.
Any internal rhyme scheme is purely accidental.
I’ve never worried, overtly, about enjambement.

I once wrote an ode to a rhododendron and a nun threw up.

I am a poetry fake.

My poetry is so bad that even the rhyming couplets have split up.

My poetry is so bad that nobody has stuck around long enough to tell me what the rhyme scheme is.

My poetry is…

View original post 531 more words