Source: Live From Mars
Advertisements
Month: February 2016
bluestockings magazine
A cuckoo coo-coos while flying. Nearby, a congregation of red-throated flycatchers quarrel for space among the bougainvillea vines. I imagine them clustered in a circle around two smaller bi…
Source: bluestockings magazine
Hunting for the Neuroscience of Heat and Violence
Economists and psychologists tell us that increased temperatures can drive conflict. Is there any brain science here?
Six Nations Rugby in Watercolor
Hello! The second week of the Rugby Six Nations contest went by in something of a blur for me… all of the Dodd household struck down with the mother of all headcolds/flu! Glad to say that we&…
Source: Six Nations Rugby in Watercolor
The Wardrobe’s Best Dressed: Laurie Byro’s “Luna”
The Lighthouse Keeper
The lighthouse keeper kills his mother.
It’s the same old story. I walk the neighborhood,
head bent low with frost. This could be a crate
filled with sea glass. Two poems rubbing against
one another on our porch. I’ve abandoned
one or both, sharpened my longest nail, filed it
to a point, shoveled snow and ash to snort you up
my nose. I’m tired of straddling a white
picket fence. We breakfast on Tab and Tylenol.
You fuck your mother over and over, rattle her
like teeth in your back pocket. I start drawing finches
with black crested tiaras. It’s all in the way
we walk, my friend. Seaweed tied to our wrists.
Naked-eyed I look out to sea. The lighthouse keeper
has stifled her heartbeat finally. The light shines
through blue Siamese eyes, remote enough
for one of us left and still afloat.
This selection comes…
View original post 195 more words
Losing Paradise, poem by Elizabeth Alford (MY MANE MEMORIES Poetry and Prose Series)
Losing Paradise
by Elizabeth Alford
my hair was once long
and too thick — like
the swollen-bellied serpent
who may not feast again
for six months
too easily whipped
by the merciless wind
like a slave who needs
one moment
just to breathe
and seeking respite
from split ends
is as fruitless
as the endeavors of Eden
we were slaves then —
conditioned to obey
God, desire,
even the snake
yet we didn’t just eat
knowledge—
we devoured it
my hair was once long
and too thick — but now,
I think I’m losing it
my combs and brushes
are full of shame, and I can’t look
myself in the face
and every strand that drifts away
is another fall from grace
PHOTO: The poet’s high school yearbook photo from 2005.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: According to WebMD, “losing up to 100 hairs a day is normal.” Okay.
ABOUT THE…
View original post 94 more words
Submission Guidelines
Submissions re-open MAR. 1 – APR. 1, 2016. Submissions are currently closed. PLEASE READ OUR GUIDELINES BEFORE SUBMITTING We accept poetry only. Prose poems are welcome. Works that require extensiv…
Source: Submission Guidelines
