Poems Found by Poet Hound

https://sites.google.com/site/bradroserhpchapbook/honey-gets-her-wish
“Honey Gets Her Wish” by Brad Rose

https://sites.google.com/site/bradroserhpchapbook/no-tip
“No Tip” by Brad Rose

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David S. Pointer's Sundrenched Nanosilver

Mr. Pointer has been featured on Poet Hound before. His latest collection, Sundrenched Nanosilver, is published in Canada by Brian Wrixon Books. Mr. Pointer is no-holds-barred when it comes to his poems about politics, the armed forces, world relations and his own private life. Below I am happy to share a sample:

The Scrapper

He used to fight under antler chandeliers
sharp in his trotting razors, the attack

rooster now roams through discarded
nail kegs, egg crates, and cream cans,

unadorned claws, rescued and retired fire
atop a wood pile big as an Amish wagon.

This poem has an illustration of a rooster standing tall and reflects the stature of the former prize fighting rooster. I can picture the rooster fighting under the antler chandeliers and making out well enough against his opponent that somebody takes him to a safe place and retires him to what looks like a junkyard. Once a rooster that stood tall for battle it now roams in what I picture to be a spare and desolate landscape. The ending stanza leads me to imagine he is being thrown into a built-up fire to put an end to his misery of all the injuries of fighting in the ring. The poem is as stark and unadorned as its creature.



First Will and Word Testament

As curator for the
preservation of poetry
in my own home, I
hereby leave my little
girls everything—the
inner spirit’s porcelain
spy glass for special
investigations into any
hard or loving heart,
the inlaid dowry chest
for their choicest poems,
the rock crystal candle-
sticks for display on
the cedar tilt-top
tea table, the mahogany
bow-backed armchair
for after-hours reading.
and tonight, I leave
them with my wishful
words to help thread
their dreams with pink
party lanterns and
frosted glass fairy
lights for illuminating
blue river pebbles
floating through razor
rock rapids of REM
sleep where white
slipper shells slide
towards new aquamarine
avenues just one soft
wake up away.

I love this sweet poem about the poet and his daughters. I can picture the poet quietly peeking into his daughters’ room to look at their sleeping forms and thinking up this poem. It speaks for itself and I enjoy it very much.



Envy?

The rich grab up all the money
like a Mexican land grant, and
the bottom end poor are left
pondering early burial by
bottle,
crack pipe, or tiny paycheck,

Mitt Romney’s cross-border
bank roll
safe, secure, and insured as
his corporate raider retreats

This poem makes me smile because I, too, feel the squeeze of finances and I’m tired of seeing wealthy people in power make more money while the rest of us continue to be squeezed. Thanks for the righteousness, Mr. Pointer!


If you enjoyed this review, you may purchase a copy of David S. Pointer’s Sundrenched Nanosilver for $10.00 at:
http://www.blurb.com/b/3728190-sundrenched-nanosilver

Thanks always for reading, please drop in again tomorrow…

Strange Girl Press

Andrea Kiss has created this press and has alerted me that she will soon be posting for Open Submissions o in the meantime please check it out at:
http://www.strangegirlpress.com/

Thanks for dropping in, please stop by tomorrow for another featured poet…

Never Ending Story Open Submissions

If you enjoy writing and/or reading haiku and tanka poems, this is the place to go. This is a bilingual Chinese-English blog, so please check out the website to see what kinds of poems are published:
http://neverendingstoryhaikutanka.blogspot.com/


The guidelines are as follows:

Send your best, preferably published tanka (please provide publication credits) or new work and a bio sketch (75 words max.) with the subject heading "Published or Unpublished Tanka, Your Name, Submitted Date" to Chen-ou Liu, Blog Editor and Translator via email at neverendingstory_tanka@yahoo.ca

No more than 20 tanka per submission and no simultaneous submissions. And Please wait for at least four months for another new submission.

Please note that only those whose tanka are selected for publication will be notified within two months, and that no other notification will be sent out, so your works are automatically freed up after two months to submit elsewhere.

The accepted tanka will be translated into Chinese and posted on NeverEnding Story and Twitter (You are welcome to follow me on NeverEnding Story or on Twitter at @storyhaikutanka). Of them, the best 66 tanka will be included in the anthology, which is scheduled to be published in April of 2014, and the best of the best tanka of 2013 will be rewarded $CAD 50 and the poet will be given a 3-page space to feature the best tanka of his/her choice. For those whose tanka are included in the anthology, each will receive a copy of its e-book edition.

A tanka is snowflakes drifting through the ink dark moon. -- Chen-ou Liu


Good luck to all who submit, please drop by again next week…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

http://www.corpse.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=757&Itemid=32
“March Hares” by Nanos Valaoritis

http://www.poolpoetry.com/poettwelve.html
“Trip Advisor” by Nicholas Wong

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Bill Friday's Blog

Find some poetry and some hilarious self-deprecation by clicking here:
http://billfriday.com/

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Poems Found by Poet Hound

Poems Found by Poet Hound
https://sites.google.com/site/59rhpissue/timothy-mclafferty
“Karushii” by Timothy McLafferty

https://sites.google.com/site/59rhpissue/john-riley
“On High” and “Then the Cattle” by John Riley

https://sites.google.com/site/59rhpissue/michael-kriesel
“Moving to the Future” by Michael Kriesel

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With Apologies To Mick Jagger, Other Gods, And All Women by Jane Rosenberg LaForge

Jane Rosenberg LaForge’s poems in her full length collection With Apologies to Mick Jagger, Other Gods, And All Women, are published by Aldrick Press and are layered with meaning. Reading through her poems I was able to appreciate more nuances with a second look and her poems are beautiful, cynical at times, and contemplative. If you enjoy dark, rich words, soil, and/or chocolate, this is the collection for you. Below I am happy to share a sample:


Comparing Mythologies in Paris

At Notre Dame, my husband says
the devil is always more interesting
than the acolytes and their enthusiasms
assembled to receive the disbelievers
in reason and fate. My husband is here
with his beats and falsehoods but I
prefer to imagine you instead, suited
in the garb of the other side’s religion.
I wonder if you would still be recognizable
as that fey creation, too gentle at the
shins and forearms, bleached copper
on your eyebrows and on your chest.
Your body should never have been
the object of such humbling; your
mouth never so open for song should
it be mistaken for the call of death.
You should have a Cheshire
expression, sans teeth and their cruelty,
of course, for there are neither stages
nor stations before gospel is written.
Lastly, I should have liked to have
known you in retirement,
an emeritus position, to act as a sage
for your replacement. Sage burns, but
rarely do wishes; they are our most
enduring belief: in what might be made
possible but cannot exist, like the reign
of pumice your skin has become, and
the stars I wish I could pierce through it.

I love the spiritual and contemplative nature of this poem. While the poet’s husband “is here/with his beats and falsehoods” Ms. LaForge imagines the religious figure (who I assume to be Jesus) being in “an emeritus position,” which would make his teachings take on a different gravity and outlet with a different group of students. I picture the religious figure here standing in a lecture hall instead of a mountain top, how different might that be to receive such wisdom? Lovely poem.


Doctor Appleman’s Rest

Just after my parents told me Doctor
and Mrs. Appleman would be getting
a divorce, I saw the doctor sleeping
in his bed. It was at the day’s pool
party in his backyard, and one of his
careless offspring had left open the
sliding glass door separating him
from the froth and corruption of one
thousand idiot children. The doctor’s
mouth was open too, his skin like
the chlorinated foam we children
drank like ignoramuses. It would
clean out our systems, sure, and
it tasted like the dead part of sleep
that we tried to deprive ourselves.
The sheets puckered under him as
if they were sour candy wrappers
and some of us might have thought
he looked like a retard, someone who
rightfully belonged chained to the
bed post and yet still too loose with
his grooming and neglect. The doctor
wore the same striped pajamas my father
sometimes spent all day in, although
the doctor was said to be consumed
by something different, his own brilliance;
it separated him permanently from
his own wife and children. My mother
explained this with a certain resignation,
just as she had begun to use words like
aver and damage, demur and unconscious.
Everyone appears as if they are children
when sleeping, she must have told me,
not in the denouement of the dreams
they are watching, but in their destinations.
As I watched the doctor sleep I wondered
how could he sleep through this divorce,
if through sleep it was possible to stop it,
before his middle daughter would be left
to marry a biker; his youngest booted from
the Hebrew school we were shipped off to,
together, and his oldest, the one who was
my age, into a mentally ill draft dodger
moonlighting as a mathematical genius.

I love the children’s perspective of this poem. A child watching the Doctor, a name that connotes a large degree of importance, sleeping in such a way as to make him look much more human. I also grin when she describes the scene as “one/thousand idiot children” and that she and the others are “ignoramuses” drinking the pool water in their play. It’s her perspective of what the Doctor would think of them, and in turn, she as a child is looking at him as a “retard” because of the way he looks when he’s asleep and therefore has no control of his posture, demeanor, etc. that reflect his importance. I also wonder if the doctor’s children truly end up the way they are described at the end of the poem or if that is what the poet and her family assume will happen as a result of the impending divorce. The poem is a wonderful child’s perspective, free of politically correct language just like that of a child.


Jane Rosenberg LaForge lives in New York City with her family. Among her works there are also two chapbooks, After Voices (Burning River Press) and Half Life (Big Table Publishing). Her newest chapbook, The Navigation of Loss, is published by Red Ochre Press. She also writes short fiction and critical and personal essays. To learn more about Ms. LaForge and her work please visit her website at:
http://jane-rosenberg-laforge.com/

If you enjoyed this review, you may pick up a copy of With Apologies to Mick Jagger, Other Gods, And All Women by Jane Rosenberg LaForge for $14.00 at:
http://www.amazon.com/With-Apologies-Jagger-Other-Women/dp/0615677002%3FSubscriptionId%3D0ENGV10E9K9QDNSJ5C82%26tag%3Dflatwave-20%26linkCode%3Dxm2%26camp%3D2025%26creative%3D165953%26creativeASIN%3D0615677002

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

Nostrovia! Site

Mr. Walton introduced me to his site and I’m happy to share it with all of you:

Nostrovia! Poetry is a small press that began in 2011 as a tiny online publisher, that has bloomed into a flourishing website for poets and writers to be promoted through various publishing medians, including contests, anthologies, blogs, and zines. Nostrovia! Poetry's goal is to rid the youth of their preconceived concepts regarding poetry as "the squawking of heartbroken old men". It is managed by youth poet Jeremiah Walton, author of LSD Giggles and Nostrovia!, who lives in New England where he attends High School.

Thanks for clicking in, please stop by tomorrow for another featured poet!

Happy Holiday Break!

I would like to wish everyone Happy Holidays and Happy New Year! My husband and I are closing on our first home this week and then we'll be moving right before Christmas Day. Christmas will be at my parents' house and so I will be very busy these next 2-3 weeks and unable to create any posts for Poet Hound.

Until we meet again, I wish you all good health, good fortune, and good cheer! I will see you in the New Year!

Sincerely,
Paula Cary

Help Luke Armstrong Help Others Start A Better Life

Thank you to all who have read the review of Luke Armstrong's latest work, How We Are Human, posted earlier this week.
Luke and I have been e-mailing back and forth about a project he has been working on: Helping Guatemalans start a savings account in addition to teaching them basic money skills. I, for one, am passionate about personal finance. I've been reading books like The Millionaire Next Door since I was 12 years old. The Rich Dad Poor Dad series is excellent, too. It really was a toss-up years ago whether to do a blog about poetry or a blog about helping others gain knowledge in personal finance. I now have the very rare opportunity to combine the two.

So I am asking all of you out there that are looking for charitable giving opportunities to check out the link below and learn how you can help others help themselves:

http://www.integralheartfoundation.org/Third.World.Savings.htm


If ever there was a way to really pay it forward, it would be helping others learn to help themselves. If you have more questions and want to contact Luke Armstrong, please e-mail me or message me on Facebook. Luke is hoping to raise an additional $150.00 by December 17th so please take a look and thanks always for clicking in!

Poems Found by Poet Hound

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nt0a7D5kyPs&feature=youtu.be
“Enough” by Andrea Gibson

http://www.blossombones.com/winter_spring2012/miller_ws2012.html
“Our Honeymoon In New York City, My Husband Turns Into Times Square” by Pamela Miller

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How We Are Human by Luke Armstrong

Luke M. Armstrong has appeared on Poet Hound before on an interview: http://poethound.blogspot.com/search?q=armstrong

Now Mr. Armstrong is back with a heartfelt collection of poems about humanity in all its shapes, forms, phases, and tragedies in How We Are Human published by Create Space Independent Publishing Platform. The poems inside describe hungry children, pop culture, joyful celebrations, philosophical questions, death and more. If you have read his first collection, iPoems for the Dolphins to click Home About, you will enjoy this collection even more so. He also includes an equally hilarious introduction which makes the collection worth purchasing all by itself. Humor before tragedy, it’s the way to go. The poems in his collection are longer so I will only include a couple of them below:

WHEN THERE WILL BE LAUGHTER

One day our greatest grandchildren will
Remember the day everyone burst
Into a simultaneous song of laughter:
The priests and the pastors
Atheists and agnostics
Hippies and homosexuals all stopped
Mid-sentence and took a deep sigh before
Finishing each others’ sentences with a gong-grinding
Bout of gushing laughter.
The babies, who did not understand, put
Down their rattles and stopped dirtying their diapers to
Join the hilarity because they
Comprehended in a wild and unarticulated way.
Priests, politicians and pragmatists poeticized and promised
To stop finishing long dead people’s journeys and
Instead laugh and laugh to laugh and laugh.
Everyone felt like it was the first day of school
And despite reservations had been
Accepted wholly and cherished plainly by
New classmates who grabbed the palms of
Their humid hands and ran towards the tire swing
Where the world’s orbit shrank to the size
Of everyone’s ability to laugh and love it.

I love the idea of everyone coming together through humor. Isn’t that what most comedians aim for? To unite a potentially diverse audience? Perhaps someday a laugh will ignite unity and wouldn’t that be a beautiful day?


BODY LANGUAGE

When we were hungry we'd
wave our arms in the air
mimicking the mating dance
of a rare South American swallow
only ever sighted in tribal
legends of the Amazon.
We communicated in a complicated
dialect of body language.
Once she broke her shoulder
trying to tell me to pass the
I Can't Believe It's Not Butter,
since this was communicated by
doing a backflip off the side of the garage.
To pantomime an ape was to invite
me to the movies. To mime a heart attack
was to remind me to do the dishes. To gesture a
giraffe was into invite me into her arms.
We're still both fluent. But out of practice,
spending our time learning new languages.
But sometimes, without thinking, I'll do a cartwheel
followed by a somersault and fold my hands into a pistol
when all I needed to do was ask for the time
and wonder how it got away from our conveying hands.

This poem resonates with me—so much of how we communicate is by physical and facial expression. The words we say mean less than how we say it. If you have ever been in a foreign country where you do not know the language, pantomiming and mimicry become your main method of communication and I love the elaborate physical communication described in the poem above. It makes me smile and reminds me of growing up on the Texas/Mexican border making friends with children who spoke Spanish and how we got along just fine “aping” our intentions, opinions, and ideas.


There is so much more than I can possibly share with you, the book consists of 114 pages and is worth exploring. If you enjoyed this sample, you may purchase a copy of Luke Maguire Armstrong’s How We Are Human for $9.99 here:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1480055867

Thanks always for reading, please drop by again tomorrow…

Laura Madeline Wiseman's Site

Laura Madeline Wisemen is a writer and shares interviews and insights at her fabulous site, check it out below:
http://www.lauramadelinewiseman.com/

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Alice Blue Review Open Submissions

Do you have innovative poetry to share? Are you able to submit on-line? For further details go to:
http://www.alicebluereview.org/main.html

Good luck to all who submit, please drop in again next week…