Internet Troubles

Hello Everyone,
I am sitting at a local coffee shop because Vonage and AT&T did not switch everything over within the 24 hours that they had indicated to us and our local AT&T won't be open until Monday. That means that there will be no Monday morning post and depending on how complicated it is to fix there may not be posts further into the week.
Apologies for the inconvenience, I won't be stopping at the local wireless coffee shop very often as I would feel obliged to buy coffee every time I sat down and I just don't have the funds at the moment.

Thanks always for visiting, please keep checking in!

Poetry Tips: Memorize One Poem

I know I’ve put this up in the past but this is one I think is important. There is a poem out there that speaks to you and it is one you need to learn and carry with you in your memory. There will be times when you have trouble putting feelings into words and this poem will bring you comfort or joy.

My personal favorite is by Emily Dickinson and it starts “A poor torn heart, a tattered heart…”

How about you?

Good luck to all who endeavor to memorize, please stop in again next week…

Barrier Islands Review Open Submissions

Straight from the site:

POETRY
Barrier Islands Review is also looking for well-written poetry. As with fiction, we're not looking for sentimentality, but well placed emotion doesn't hurt. Poetry may be on any subject and in any format, but special attention will be paid to traditional and invented forms. However, content should never be sacrificed for form. Submit up to six poems for consideration, up to 100 lines each.
SEND
All submissions must be previously unpublished. Simultaneous submissions are okay if you tell us when they’ve been published elsewhere. Multiple submissions are okay, too. Please use our handy-dandy submissions manager.

Email submissions will be scowled at and deleted. Snail mail submissions will be used to make paper maché jungle animals.

IFS
If your work is selected for publication, we request first digital publication rights along with the right to archive your piece indefinitely. However, pieces may be taken down upon the author’s request. Published works are eligible for the yearly chapbook publication.

PAYMENT
At this time we are not a paying market. This may change in the future, depending on readership and donations. However, digital copies will be furnished for all contributors. Those whose work is chosen for the “Best Of” anthology will receive a contributors’ copy.

For more details and to use their submissions manager go to:
http://barrierislandsreview.com/html/submissions.html

Good luck to all who submit, please drop by tomorrow for more PoetryTips…

Poems Found By Poet Hound

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=175341
“Cold Blooded Creatures” by Elinor Wylie

http://www.anhinga.org/books/book_info.cfm?title=Lost Country of Sight
Neil Atkin’s Poems from Lost Country of Sight

Thanks for clicking in, please stop by tomorrow for more Open Submissions…

Ed Galing's Sunrise, Sunset

Mr. Galing’s Sunrise, Sunset is published by Peerless Press. Mr. Galing’s Author’s note explains that the title is taken from “Fiddler on the Roof” as it best fits his collection of poems. These poems take in childhood memories and current day reflections of his life. As always, Mr. Galing’s poems are straightforward and communicate exactly what he is trying to say, which I enjoy immensely. I hope you’ll enjoy the small sample of the poems I’ve selected:

Waiting For My Son

it will take him
about
two hours to get
to
jack’s deli, where
i am waiting
he lives in
maryland

says he can’t get a good corned
beef sandwiches there.

so he is coming to meet me
here, and i sit in a booth
and wait and i am holding an
old album,
full of pictures from the old days.

one is when i bought him his first
bike, oh, how he rode around and
around, waving his hands happily.

it was the first bike he ever had, and
we lived in a housing project, very,
poor, but somehow, i was able to buy
him the bike.

i had never seen a happier boy in my life
i want to show him these pictures when he comes.

so much time has gone by since those days
for one, my wife has died, and
i am alone, and the album is about the
only thing that keeps me thinking young.

my wife once said: why do you keep the
pictures so long?, she couldn’t understand how much it meant to
be able to see the
past, when we were young and happy.

he should be here soon…i keep thinking
now he is seventy years old, and i’m
ninety one… it’s hard to believe so much time
has come and gone… so many tribulations.

wait till he sees this album, i think…
and there he is, just walked in, he sees me

and waves, and for a moment I can’t believe
this is my ten year old son…this is a man…
who is slightly bent over, has a moustache, limps,
and is headed my way…no, there must be a mistake…
but here he is now, smiling and saying, hello, dad,
but the traffic is awful out there… now let’s eat
some of the good cornbeef.

hello son, i reply. be my guest.

i don’t think I will show him the album.
that’s a different story, a different time…

This poem definitely tugs at my heartstrings. Mr. Galing is looking fondly over the photos of his family when they were all young and his son full of energy on his bicycle. When Mr. Galing looks up he sees the transformation of his son’s youth to a man bent over and walking with a limp, he doesn’t have to say his heart aches but you know through his words that it does. It would break his heart to show the album to his son by the time he arrives and so he puts it away to spare himself. This is a poignant poem from the heart.



Burlesque

we didn’t know, really,
how good we had it,
until the day it
came to an end,
it was a long time
ago,
when burlesque made us
feel like real men,
when the girls
danced on two left feet,
dressed in gaudy
costumes with plumes and
feathers, but at least
they tried,
and the strip teasers pranced
up and down the stage,
to the staccato beat of the
drum, keeping time with every
beat, tatatata tatata…
shedding a little bit of
clothing every time,
until all of us would
scream, take it off, take
it all off,
to see a naked girl in
the flesh, young, beautiful,
not ashamed of their bodies,
you always bought a candy box
from the candy man who said
there was a prize in every box,
which was a lie,
but we didn’t mind,
part of the fun of bein
alive at this time,
seeing naked girls without
having to beg for it
when burlesque faded
away, like a 45 rpm, it was
a bad day for us,
and now it is gone, and
in its place is a WALMART DRUGS
store, and the only sound
now, is the sound of the cash registers,
and thats the only music
they care about,
and nothing else.

I thought I’d lighten up the mood after the previous poem. This one is a no-holds-barred poem about a man missing the burlesque shows and knowing there is nothing like it anymore. Straightforward and funny, to me anyway, Mr. Galing describes “the good ol’ days” in a way that most men do not. Thanks for the big grin, Mr. Galing.



Jewish Heaven

in the day care center where i
often go for a visit, i see all
kinds of old people, some in wheel
chairs, walkers, staring out at
the world who has treated them so
unkindly… who asked for a broken
down body? who wanted to have
alzheimers? we have nothing to say
about it. we pray, we go to church
or synagogue, hoping that God will
hear our prayers… i know someone who
eats in a jewish deli, about eighty
two years old, who wrings his hands
together and looks up at the ceiling,
praying to someone up there to give
him just one more day of life…
i know what he’s thinking… he knows
that the odds are great that when his
number is up, there is nothing he can
do about it, even if he prays every day.
at least he eats his corned beef sandwich
with relish. and ketchup too. and i
watch this old little man, who prays
in a jewish deli, and then eats like
there is no tomorrow… i hope he likes
corned beef up in heaven, if that is where
he goes someday. as for me, i like a
good bowl of matzo ball soup. and please,
some rye bread too.

This poem makes me smile, too. Mr. Galing observing a fellow diner while they enjoy their respective dishes and witnessing prayers to God for one more day of good food is an entertaining subject for a poem. Think of how many different kinds of people thank God for their meal and then think of this poem. It makes me smile all the more, watching an older man wringing his hands as if to say “please just one more corned beef sandwich before I die” instead of the usual prayers said at mealtime. Mr. Galing is inspired to add his own prayer which is for matzo ball soup instead, with some rye bread, and leaves me smiling at the end. I think I’ll be appreciating my meals even more from now on thanks to this poem.


I hope you enjoy these poems as much as I do. You can snag a copy for yourself for $5.00 from Ed Galing himself. If you are interested, please e-mail me at poethoundblogspot@yahoo.com

I don’t want to give out his mailing address so openly on the internet, so please do e-mail me if you’d like a copy of this chapbook.


You can also read and learn more about Mr. Galing by visiting his blog, run by his friend Doug Holder, at:

http://edgaling.blogspot.com/

Thanks always for reading, please click in again tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…

Tom Clark Blog

Tom Clark is a biographer of poets such as Jack Kerouac and Robert Creeley and writes poems himself on this amazing and beautiful blog at Tom Clark’s “Beyond The Pale.” Check it out at:


http://tomclarkblog.blogspot.com/

*Be careful if you decide to TYPE the above address into your search engine because there is another similar blog, tomclark.blogspot.com and it’s a different man.

Thanks for clicking in, please drop by tomorrow for another featured poet…

Poetry Tips: Incentives

There are days, even weeks or months, in which a complete lack of desire to write occurs. You may have been going strong, you may have been diligent, but then the interest begins to wane. Taking a break is always a good idea but when you feel like writing has become a chore rather than a joy, it may be time to bring in some sort of incentive to keep going.
For example, mine has been treating myself to an Oreo cookie when sitting down to work on my poems when I least feel like it. Other times has been treating myself to window shopping if I spend a designated amount of time working on my writing—even if it is just tweaking already existing poems. Your may be allowing yourself a nap on the weekend after you’ve spent thirty minutes working at your own written words. Perhaps you’ll allow yourself a treat like an Oreo for the days you least feel like writing.

Let me know what incentives you use in the comments section, I’d love to hear about them…

Thanks for dropping in, please stop by again next week…

Alternating Current Open Submissions

Alternating Current is seeking up to five poems, deadline is November 30th, 2010, for Poiesis Issue #5.

Send these via e-mail, include your contact information and add “Poetry Submission” in the subject line to:
alt.current@gmail.com

Alternating Current publishes a wide variety of poems so if you have a poem that often has trouble finding a place to go, this is where I’d recommend sending it.

Good luck to all who submit, please drop in tomorrow for more Poetry Tips…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

http://www.juked.com/2010/09/nopicnic.asp
“No Picnic” by Julie Marie Wade

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=239948
“The Owl” by Ange Mlinko

Thanks for clicking in, please stop by tomorrow for more Open Submissions…

Lilliput Review Issue #176

This issue is packed with flora and fauna, quiet contemplations, and sentimental poems. Below I am happy to share a few of the issue’s treasures:

#18

Toward Kiyomizu
Crossing Gion
Under moonlit cherry blossoms
This evening, everyone
Passing is beautiful.

By: Yosano Akiko, translated by Dennis Maloney

Isn’t this a beautiful poem? Forget candlelight, we can envision passerby under cherry trees in the fading light of sunset and envy Yosano Akiko’s view.



Summer Fruit – sharing 2 of 4 poems by Lyn Stefenhagens of Osprey, FL:

Cherry

Garnet,
tart and sweet;
your tongue finds the pit,
your fingers the stem
and both are stained
by a fruit that seemed
prim as a nun, intact.



Raspberry

Each little nub,
dark as your blood,
is chambered like a heart.
If you eat, take great care;
the vine which protects it
is jealous. Beware.

Both poems make me want to run out and buy these fruit. The Cherry is portrayed as sweet and innocent until its inner nature is revealed and the Raspberry is given the importance of being a vessel of life as a heart, so precious that its vine seeks to protect it for its own. Both are wonderful poems. The other two fruit poems are wonderful as well but I want to entice you to get your own copy of this issue to read the other two.




every horizon appears close now
no tree can
taste its own fruit

by: Chris Ellery by San Angela, TX

I envision a Texas sunset (I challenge you to argue that any other sunset is more beautiful than the sunsets in Texas) settling over fruit trees and casting a light so becoming that the poet wishes the fruit tree knew not only how beautiful its fruit looks but how lovely the fruit tastes.


If you enjoyed this sample I urge you to subscribe to Lilliput Review. You can subscribe to SIX issues for a mere $5.00 via Pay Pal at:

http://lilliputreview.blogspot.com/

The blog itself features poems that Don Wentworth posts from previous issues along with countless other wonderful things, including Issa’s Sunday Service. So please visit the blog and consider a subscription to this tiny and fabulous collection of poems.

Thanks always for reading, please stop in again tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound…

Moving Poems

When I was visiting the Lilliput Review blog, Issa’s Untidy Hut, there was a feature on Moving Poems and I’m so glad I visited. You will be, too, check out the short films here:
http://movingpoems.com/

Thanks for clicking in, please stop by tomorrow for another featured journal…

Poetry Tips: Tolerance

Thanks to living in Florida and all the madness surrounding the pastor of a small church, I’ve been inspired to write poems about tolerance. Tolerance takes countless forms, when you get down to it. Can you tolerate an annoying co-worker? An unruly child? A relative who is always late to gatherings? Can you tolerate Republicans? Democrats? Can you tolerate different religions? Skin color? Homosexuality? This week I’d like you to question yourself and write about your own tolerance or intolerance.

Good luck to all who try it, please stop in next week…

Adirondack Review Open Submissions

Straight from the site:
Poetry

Please submit 2-5 single-spaced poems with a brief bio. We do not publish previously published work and do not accept simultaneous submissions. The Adirondack Review acquires first rights for publication. Upon publication, rights revert to the author/artist. The Adirondack Review reserves the right to reprint work at a later date if it is selected for inclusion in a print anthology. Please send poems in the body of your email, not as attachments.

Send poetry submissions to editors@theadirondackreview.com.
Please include your last name, date of submission, and the word "POETRY" in the subject line of your e-mail.

For more details, visit their site at:
http://theadirondackreview.com/

Good luck to all who submit! Please stop in tomorrow for more Poetry Tips…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

https://sites.google.com/site/rhpissue35/steven-fowler-2
(Cioran’s Nightly Visit” by SJ Fowler

http://poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/21846
[without a listener] by Maxine Chernoff

Thanks for clicking in, please drop by tomorrow for more Open Submissions...

Poiesis # 4

Leah Angstman at Alternating Current has put together a fabulous issue (and not just because one of my own poems appears in it) for Issue #4 of Poiesis. The poems range in intensity from loving and carefree to dark and foreboding. One poem blew my mind and I am going to let you know now that the only reason I did not include it was because it was just too long for me to try and type up. So you’ll just have to nab a copy for yourself and I’m sure you’ll know what I’m talking about because it’s based on a young man’s controversial lifestyle. I had a hard time paring down the number of poems to share with you and I am thrilled to share a sample of them with you:


Hitchhiking
By: Alan Caitlan

His red taillights are like smashed
windshields, half moons of broken glass
beneath the skin; kicking open the passenger
side door, he invites you inside, says,
“Pull hard, it sticks sometimes.” Pushes down
the gas pedal all the way, dual busted exhaust
pipes, jacked up high, rear springs too: inside,
rolling aluminum beer cans, overflowing ash tray,
smoldering, dropping live butts on grease
stained beyond-all-recognition floor mats,
says, “Like my dolly?” tickling the ass end
of a stuffed cloth blue gnome, its hard rubber
head lying on the hood, says, “Had an accident
with my fist.” Pauses, says, “You know, I killed
a guy once. Looked just like you, he did.”
“No shit,” I want to say but nothing comes out.
The spider web patterns of fractured light,
splinters that penetrate the young driver’s eyes
laying a tight fitting blacktop on the night.

Quite frankly, this poem made me shudder, and that’s a good thing. The sort of person you would dread picking up is instead the driver and so the poet takes a chance and climbs in for the ride and we don’t know how it ends. All we know is the beginning and I’m curious and thirsty for more, Mr. Caitlan.



Fat Free
By: Joseph Dorazio

Salivary
slavery
shackle locks
& lips
ham hocks
& hips
in the land of
milk & honey
no runaway
calorie
it’s obesity’s
emancipation
the label’s
proclamation:
fat free!

I like the alliteration, the pop of rhyme, the whole rhythm of this poem. The subject is great too and is portrayed in short, slim lines. The whole of it is clever and catchy, and I agree with its mockery of the message: The answer to obesity is fat free! Obviously, fat free does not solve much of anything except to make the consumer feel better about themselves. Thank you, Mr. Dorazio, clever poem.



war chant
by: Robert Schuler

I speak for the liberation of the soul
from the slavery of the marketplace

This short poem addresses a broader spectrum of the one above. Free consumers from the marketplace and then their souls will be free. He could go on and on but “enough said.”



Fornication
(or, How My House Got This Way)
By: Anthony G Herles

They fooled me for a while but I caught wise
Those noises in the cellar were not mice
And in the attic, too, those all were lies

The fluffy dolls from Raggedy Ann were some surprise
What she was doing up there was not nice
She fooled me for a while but I caught wise.

Chairs and tables I’ll have to sterilize
They wouldn’t listen to my Puritan advice
So in the living room, all they told were lies.

And GI Joe and Legos seemed to multiply
Regardless of their word to cut the vice
They laughed at me a while, but I caught wise.

Silverware and dishes offered me no alibis
Bathing together seemed to them exotic paradise
So in my kitchen they lived erotic lives.

My house is filled with stuff I can’t abide
Their stand of my confusion will not suffice
They have not fooled me yet, for I am catching wise
Tomorrow I will confront them with their procreation lies.

Finally, a rhyming poem! This one made me laugh out loud, the multiplication of stuff is something I can relate to very well, how about you? Every time my back is turned it seems my own stuff forms taller piles and stacks. The idea that Mr. Herles’ things are fornicating and multiplying is portrayed in a riotous rhyme scheme here.

Okay, so I had about three more poems marked to share with you but I’m going to stop here. After all, you should be reaching for your own copy by now!

If you would like to purchase a copy of Poiesis issue #4 for yourself from Propaganda Press, it is $4.00 (+ $2 US, or $3 out-of-US shipping and handling) at:
http://alt-current.com

or via Paypal to alt.current@gmail.com

OR via check or money order made out to Angstman Arts and mail it to:
Alternating Current
PO Box 183
Palo Alto, CA 94302

Thanks always for reading, please click in tomorrow for more Poems Found by Poet Hound