Poems Found by Poet Hound

https://sites.google.com/site/61rhpissue/jeffrey-park
“Future Perfect” By Jeffrey Park

https://sites.google.com/site/61rhpissue/larry-d-thomas
“Bones” by Larry D. Thomas

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Lisa M. Cole's Renegade//Heart

Lisa M. Cole’s Renegade//Heart is published by Blood Pudding Press in 2013 and is a riveting collection of poems about love and life that drill to the bone creating fissures, provoking blood loss, changing the meaning of good and bad luck. I can hardly do her justice, all I can say is it is worth purchasing a copy for yourself because you will read it again and again as I have. Below I am happy to share some sample poems:
2
wait until night & set//your bed on fire, darling//sleep with all the dolls//unhook your rotary phone & watch//the broken chandelier as it swings like a marionette// listen, little dancer://some girls just want to watch the world burn

This poem makes me think of a young girl surrounded by her dolls and her imagination at night. I also think of the poet reflecting back on her childhood days and shaking up the contents of her old bedroom. The imagery of a burning bed with a chandelier swinging overhead like a dangling puppet is scary and seems a defiant act of the girl in the poem, her way of rising against something happening in her life.


3
a story in which I am the damsel, the maiden, a reluctant crowned girl//I slept for days (years)//I woke up confused//& the world was inverted://spoons did not nourish but demolish//voodoo dolls brought good luck//& you loved me again//to swerve & waver (caper)//to want me supine & ready//yes: the most profound shaman is also stranded in burned ruins

I imagine a woman going through heartbreak, sleeping so much that the world seems unfamiliar when she wakes up, something I can relate to as many of us can. When you want the world to be opposite of what it is, to get the love of your life back, which might mean that the universe would have to be topsy turvy with demolishing spoons and lucky voodoo dolls. I like the concept, that in order to have love back, other items would have to reverse their original nature.


16
do you see?//we//are almost old//we are almost amber//I stare into your ferris wheel eye//as the summer cicadas whirr & stammer in my bones//dear sage//every time I want to write to you, I am going to write a line instead

I love this poem because I can relate to this one, too. Your emotions are so strong that you want to write a letter to the person you feel so strongly about and instead you write lines, poems. How many of us struggle to put into words our feelings for others? How often can we actually address them directly? Lovely poem.


If you enjoyed this sample of Lisa M. Cole’s Renegade//Heart you may purchase a copy for yourself for $7.00 at:
http://www.etsy.com/listing/119192462/renegadeheart-by-lisa-mcole-new-2013

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The Galway Review Open Submissions

It would be best to look around the website and get a feel for what kinds of work they feature. Make sure poems are the kind those in other languages will understand, so straightforward is recommended. You may e-mail your poems to: thegalwayreview@gmail.com

For further details and to explore their site go to:
http://thegalwayreview.com/contact/

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Poems Found by Poet Hound

http://www.blossombones.com/winter_spring2012/henney_ws2012.html
“Blueprint” by Theodosia Henney

http://www.coconutpoetry.org/torresg1.html
“The Turkey’s Nest Part 1” by Gabriella Torres

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Juliet Cook’s Poisonous Beautyskull Lollipop

Juliet Cooks’ collection, Poisonous Beautyskull Lollipop, has been published by Grey Book Press as of 2013 and it is a riveting, stark collection that becomes “curiouser and curiouser” as I envision Alice in Wonderland saying if she read it, too. It is a journey that opens your skull and allows your own mind to dance and tangle with her poems. The cover is also very eye-catching. I love Juliet Cook’s work, I wish I were as able to write as freely as she does when the menagerie in the mind is bled onto paper and I am happy to share some of her poems below:

Female Infestation

cutting girls out of catalogs, holding child-sized scissor blades deep
inside

scissoring images of women, categorizing them into portals

making flashcards out of some of them, gluing them onto squares

a hole series comprised of busty ladies, in the back

subject subconscious mind to skimpy assets

make fun of little girls’ matchbox cars and transformers

rap their knuckles, retail their brain into bikini zone palettes

slash me into desirable womanly creature over under

conjure up my broken doll legs, sink me inside my odd doll factory

mounted on a strange vase, I am a poisonous beautyskull lollipop.

This poem lets my mind flow freely with the images, and as you can see, the title of the collection is borne of this poem. What I like about it is the idea of cutting out images of women as so many of us remember or are still making collages throughout our lives and the images of women available are often of “busty ladies” and “skimpy assets.” The line “make fun of little girls’ matchbox cars and transformers” just solidifies the idea that women are supposed to fit the role of being beautiful and to do certain things society continues to prescribe females. The idea of “making flashcards” makes it sound as if our poet is studying to be more “feminine” while keeping in check the “masculine” parts of herself. It is something all women struggle with, and men, too, for that matter. Boys who are discouraged from playing with dolls with their sisters, for instance. Gender roles and how we fit in among them, how the poet feels as though she is “mounted on a strange vase, I am a poisonous beautyskull lollipop.” Poisonous because she cannot live up to the strict feminine guidelines I wonder?



The Ugly Duckling

One half doll swath, the other half unruly. This is my dirty-feathered fate. Birthed of the black swan lace, a high-pitched soprano solo of my past, but my present is loose gravel, is groveling. No longer can I make my diaphragm work that way—that heave that smoothes into sweet syllabics. My new rhythm spurts and gags.

Throughout her poems Juliet Cook speaks of birds, bloody, dirty, struggling. In this poem, I imagine the poet is trying to feel beautiful again, trying to find her “rhythm” from before a tragedy that she has overcome. Her present is “loose gravel” and I picture a delicate creature trying to gain footing and that the poet uses this image to describe a place in her own life. I think it is a wonderful poem about trying to get back to “normal.”



Venus Tree

I planted my oranges with teeth.
I offered my crush a piece of spiked fruit.
Next thing I knew, he was missing an arm.

Could this be transcendence in a new-fangled way,
or were we just consuming each other? How do we
move past our mutilation into our desired sweet bite?

Forbidden to talk about hunger, we suffer
involuntary movements of the tongue—
weevils, vowels, forking out.

My tongue flicking, my limbs twitching
like orange-splotched salamander tails.
I wanted to chew and swallow, but I spewed it—

a bloody spume of glitter dripping down.

This poem makes me think of the poet trying to communicate with someone she loves and what comes out of her self-expression is something quite different. Hence the tongue bearing “weevils, vowels, forking out” and “bloody spume of glitter dripping down.” The imagery is vivid, I can picture a woman trying to speak and what comes out is colored glitter, and her body gestures strange—like “salamander tails.” How often have we tried desperately to express ourselves only for everything to come out all wrong? That’s the impression I get from the poem. For better or worse, the poet is not able to express what she wants to in a way that can be understood.



If you enjoyed this sample, you may purchase a copy of Poisonous Beautyskull Lollipop by Juliet Cook for $5.00 at:
http://www.etsy.com/listing/121462468/poisonous-beautyskull-lollipop-by-juliet?

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Opera in Bianco/Contemporary Poetry

Frederico Federici clued me in to some wonderful English translations on his blog of poems that you should all check out at:
http://leserpent.wordpress.com/category/english/

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Lisa M. Cole's tinder//heart

Lisa M. Cole’s chapbook, tinder//heart, published by Dancing Girl Press in 2012, is beautiful and riveting. There is pain, tenderness, beauty and scars among the pages, all exquisitely revealed by Lisa M. Cole’s mastery of prose poetry. Her words appear as free flowing thought corralled into order. It is difficult to share only a few poems so I urge you to pick up a copy for yourself after reading these samples:

that you didn’t love me//knocked flat//love greater than fear//no walls/tear down & conquer do it//not enough love//thinking//quell love//quell it//drawing the eye//clover eyes, pig eyes, frog eyes, zombie eyes//brick house dreams//digging with a short-handed hoe//remember when we talked of wedding dresses & white cake//my mother cradling my face//don’t quit soldier//don’t quit//biding time//driving, driving/she is a white zombie//no voice box//no chords//ships need anchors

This poem reminds me of free-flow thinking and writing your thoughts as they naturally occur before breaking them up into the fragments that they appeared in. I imagine the poet thinking about a recent lover and trying to stifle the overwhelming tide of emotion, hence the italicized words to emphasize the intensity of the emotions throughout the poem. I love the imagery, the different kinds of eyes she names, perhaps the way her eyes look during the ups and downs of the emotions, and the “brick house dreams” where so many of us picture that perfect house to live in with that perfect someone. Her mother “cradling my face” is endearing and heart breaking all at once and then followed by “don’t quit soldier” and you hope the Mom is encouraging the poet through this heartache to come out whole on the other side of the grief. It’s a beautiful poem. I’ve read it over and over again and just find more and more that I love about it.


touching his skin soft like a pear//memory opens like so many tattered maps//empty perfume bottles shattered//teeth marks on all the books//drinking bloody marys till dawn and scheming like chemists//butter cookies in the backseat of the car after sleeping with the horses in the grass//spill ink on your arm//remember the palm trees & the balmy nights//the letters to too many lovers written in long-hand//all the theatres in your mind fall down & then you see it//what you breathe against//a heart full of tinders

I love the images of each line framed by the //. I envision the poet thinking of a man who she loved dearly but has gone on with his own life and she sees the small moments in freeze frames. I love “teeth marks on all the books” and wonder whose teeth made those marks and how does someone end up putting book in their teeth? What sort of pair sleeps in the grass with horses and then either eats or finds butter cookies in the backseat of the car? I love the idea of “the theatres in your mind fall down & then you see it” all the dramatic spins that reminiscing can impose of true memory and then to strip the memory back down to its true nature. Everything about it makes me long to learn more about this pair in the poem, to dig down further into their history.


when grace asks, give her rusted pennies//the lament of the lungs//that we can never breathe enough//give enough//live enough//when grace allows//love an Irishman with a red beard//bruise your Achilles’ heel dancing drunk in your stockings smoking Camel cigarettes//call the horse & chariot that holds your desire//& runrunrun

I love the idea of “when grace asks…” That state of grace which can be so difficult to achieve, and in the poem is the sense that we are never good enough to achieve grace. So when grace allows it, why not allow yourself to love, to dance, to drink, to smoke, to run? That’s what I imagine the poem’s message to be. I’d love to know how this poem came to Lisa M Cole’s mind and what her intentions are for its meaning.

If you enjoyed this review and these wonderful samples, you may purchase a copy of tinder//heart by Lisa Cole for $7.00 from Dancing Girl Press at:
http://dulcetshop.ecrater.com/p/14991457/tinder-heart-lisa-m-cole

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Poems Found by Poet Hound

http://juked.com/2013/01/meg-thompson-new-companions-coming-soon.asp
“New Companions Coming Soon” by Meg Thompson

http://www.poolpoetry.com/poetthree.html
“o! hello araby, again” by Kristin Hatch

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Aleathia Drehmer's Site

I’m a fan of Aleathia Drehmer’s work and editorial skills. Now she has her website devoted to showcasing all her skills and dreams and things-in-the-works so check it out at:
http://aleathiadrehmer.wordpress.com/

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Read A Good Book: Hank & Jules by Jason Fisk

Jason Fisk’s collection of short stories, Hank & Jules, is published by killthemiddlemanpress.com. It is a haunting collection of stories about the couple described above and how they fell in love, endured hardships, and are slated to part through sickness rather than health. I found myself feeling uplifted and redeemed in “Chemical Reaction” where Henry’s father learns that love is not just a “chemical reaction” and I found myself cringing in anticipation in the story “Harmonious.” “Harmonious” is the story of Henry’s car accident and the secret that could be exposed about his true intentions for being found at the zoo at the time of the car accident with his wife worried and anxious at his side. Many of the stories leave you wondering what the end really is and leaves the reader to anticipate the ultimate conclusion for each short story. However, the ultimate concluding story will break your heart even as it leaves you with questions. It is a page-turning read and is the perfect book for a rainy day spent indoors.

If you enjoyed this review of Hank & Jules by Jason Fisk you may purchase a copy for $5.50 by going to:
http://www.amazon.com/Hank-Jules-Jason-Fisk/dp/0615722490

To learn more about Jason Fisk, who writes poetry and fiction, please visit his blog at:
http://jasonfisk.blogspot.com/


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The Lit Garden Open Submissions

Seeking poetry (among other types of writing) with a limit of 500 words for upcoming issues: The Resurrection issue (deadline Feb. 28) and The Plunder Issue (deadline March 30th). You may submit via e-mail to: joanne@thelitgarden.com

Be sure to check out their website for further details, etc. at:
http://www.thelitgarden.com/p/calls-for-submissions.html

Good luck to all who submit, please drop in tomorrow for Read A Good Book…

Poems Found by Poet Hound

https://sites.google.com/site/rhpissue60/angele-ellis
“Waning” by Angele Ellis

https://sites.google.com/site/rhpissue60/worthy-evans
“Southern” by Worthy Evans

http://www.unf.edu/mudlark/flashes/darling_guess.html
Katrina Marie Darling’s and Carol Guess’s collaborative poems/prose, all of them

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The Navigation of Loss by Jane Rosenberg LaForge

Jane Rosenberg LaForge has been featured on Poet Hound before and I am pleased to feature her today with her chapbook The Navigation of Loss published by Red Ochre Press in 2012. While the title lets us know that the contents are about loss the poems themselves are composed of real and imagined scenes with emotions ranging from nostalgia to heartbreak. At the end of the collection is an interview between the editor Mimi Ferebee and the poet about her work which is enlightening and wonderful. I wish all poetry collections had this feature, even just a few short questions and the responses from the writer would be a grand thing for all readers. All of us are curious to a writer’s inspirations and motivations and the interview at the end provides us that crucial information. The collection is whimsical and stark all at the same time. Below I am happy to share a couple of poems:

Sanctuary

If I could live in that place
that photographs not in sepia
but in burnt umber, so there
is enough of a reminder of blood,
of what was not carried out,
and left with wounds to open;
where trees do not endure,
but merely assemble, as if
they have been called for
that one final round, to collect
their retirement and meaningless
medals; there my feet would
not upbraid the dirt, and my eyes
would not tear at the cold;
my breath could be as thick
as the clay below and the warmth
of it would not matter. I might
wear a garment of earth, restore
the autumn to my hair, and I
would belong. I would be invisible,
I would be both bark and hollow.
I am so old now that I can only
be disappointed in my humanness,
my vanity and jealousness, and
I am left with only the option
Of waiting, neither for sunset nor
Twilight but for the stain to breach
Clean of all taste, and all of color.

This poem feels earthy and sensual in a way I did not expect. The poet speaks of older photographs where most, but not all, the color is drained out and how she wants to inhabit that space where everything is arranged just so and that nothing in the scene would or could be disturbed. I think we all feel that way at times, the desperate need for order in our lives, to inhabit some perfect scene that we find in magazines and TV shows and films instead of the imperfect and chaotic space of our real lives. She describes her reality at the end and so many of can relate to feeling “disappointed in my humanness.” There is no perfection, only humanity, it is a beautiful poem.


The Navigation of Loss

In the apartment I bought
with my inheritance, I can
sit at one end and feel as though
my grandmother’s grand bathroom
is just down the long hall; with the
sunken tub beside the clouded window
that smeared the landscape outside of it.
This is supposed to be about loss, how
it is quantified and navigated in cardinal
directions according to our infernal
compasses. It does not matter if ironweed
and cattails grew too high outside the
bathroom for the fire department, only
that my grandmother’s rooms had to be
sequestered far and away from everyone
else; she was so ill and delicate. In the
kitchen, there was an intercom, and my
uncle typed up a legend for its buttons,
on the old typewriter that left tears in the
consonants, and shadows in the vowels.
For the last button, he had typed “Mother’s
Room,” and when I was old enough to read
it I realized just who this man was, living
with my grandparents. My uncle hung his
antique maps throughout the rest of the house,
instruments devised before satellites and
contemporary battles. Continents distended,
oceans shrunk; there were fewer borders than
I remembered, and there were no rivers or
mountains. Just after my uncle died, his wife
tried to give me those maps, but I said it was too
soon for that. She told me he had confided he had
always been afraid of women because his mother
was always on the verge of death. That’s why he
became a doctor, though he would have rather been
anything else.

The poem’s ending catches my heart strings. The poet looks back on her family’s life as she was growing up and learns that her uncle chose his profession out of a fear of the unknown. So many of us pursue life either avoiding our fears or trying to learn more about them in order to overcome. What we don’t know is whether her uncle ever found the answers he was looking for and so there is another layer of loss for the reader to contemplate on. The antique maps are a visual cue and reminder of the poets’ uncle and his ways and I wonder if she ever decides to receive the maps and hang them in her own home?


If you enjoyed this review you may read more sample poems and purchase a copy of The Navigation of Loss by Jane Rosenberg LaForge for $11.00 at:
http://www.redochrelit.com/janerosenberglaforge.html

To learn more about Jane Rosenberg LaForge and find more of her poetry and writing, visit her website at:
http://jane-rosenberg-laforge.com/

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Syntax is a Second Skin Blog

Writer, poet, and professor, check out her blog filled with fabulous writerly things, links, and more at:
http://www.carolguess.blogspot.com/

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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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