ok ok - so in this fantasy I'm Kerouac on a date with Michelangelo - I wrote this a good while ago but have been waiting for a chance to come out of the closet with it
Where Micky meets Jacky
White swirl pastissed tracery,
Jack’s filthy irony crafted,
honours his friend’s stinking boots.
Real manhands came out the night, smoke on rye,
their imminent attack a glory smell of piss and ah
how sweet this meeting, minds flirtspitting.
Nuances: garlic, recent cum, pink marble hotshots.
Possible for veins to coincide.
Remember.
2 fellas pussyfoot elbows.
Lowell greased cheap worsted one alongside
some chic old Rome(o) shit. Wrists.
His guest musta just jerked off, he could smell him.
Stories from extravagant lips, his terribliatà.
Frowns, big rich intelligences, temporal lobes
flying zones through speed and drink
drinktalking paint over cocks.
Loves them, feels them in his palm,
sublimated brush handles rhythmying.
Layed down for years on his back, hard.
“Arrive, mes ti’s anges,” but…
“I know, they won’t.”
“Fuck you Duluoz/prick-teaser,
give me American hope!”
“Come, come, my little fag, have another ouzo-ouzo,
you’re on vacation, mon cher Michelfuckingangelo.
Here’s to my shadow side.
Screw that before you go back te Italy.”
“No no I have my David. Dear.
But ‘closer, spare me your round delicious
rose.”
He smoothes Jacko’s earlobe.
Nails a chisel slit along its edge.
“Christ like a cicatrice.”
Pulls.
Tells of his dominatrix.
“I have her whiter than women have a right to.
Such creases.
He swoons across ‘er knees.
Ooh soo sssubmissive.”
Wet lips Ti Jean wants ta pump with bourbon.
Mad kisses full on suck him for all to see,
tongue doing demo inside his hot dewaring mouth.
“My Pietà,” he slobbers tilting fall
ing. Next morning both are uncovered inert,
fuming absinthe-fuel vapours;
Buanarroti stained with ejaculate,
a pinch still wet,
fist dreaming around his artist’s implement.
Kerouac, having barely missed a great pancake of vomit,
is gently persuaded out of stupor
by some would be beat around his head.
Tingles with sage, goodgrass and olivemusk.
Fresh ooze correctly lines his right auricular helix.
From its ridge, filaments run down his bluewhite cheek.
Blood not-carrara but orobico rosso,
drips
ooh
slips
back Must stick
this
down
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Sleep (Fantasy Challenge)
Softly, after love
she will float like fragrance
into the shadows of the fallen
carrying traces of me
down the pathless trail.
A drop of my breath
in her lungs for the thirsty.
A taste of my skin
on her lips for the hungry.
I will mourn the body
until it is reclaimed.
She will unfold her wings
under the sheets
and ask me
where I’ve been.
D.Q. 9/13/05
she will float like fragrance
into the shadows of the fallen
carrying traces of me
down the pathless trail.
A drop of my breath
in her lungs for the thirsty.
A taste of my skin
on her lips for the hungry.
I will mourn the body
until it is reclaimed.
She will unfold her wings
under the sheets
and ask me
where I’ve been.
D.Q. 9/13/05
Her Husband Swims, Unplugged (Fantasy Challenge)
In an underwater bubble your words come pell-mell, tumbling blocks of sound baffled by the unordinary, the ordained. Silence is a lisp, a watery stammer as you pull my hand and I glide along an uneven bottom. Spoils of a venom hiss drift by, an armchair and a lamp for reading anchor the ceiling. There is your mother’s rosary, a broken pitcher, the pink face of her doll. I can see the sky but I cannot reach it; the splintered camelback shotguns fold like tissue paper around our hearts. A refrigerator unspoiled becomes a moat lodged against a clock. It is your grandfather and he speaks without a voice. A fish swims by under glass, becomes a rainbow when his hand strikes distance. We float beneath oxygen and speak in tongues as drums and zydeco, a wet pull on the sax form the second line. Safety is an umbilical cord to the stars, yet your arm presses into my back, circles my waist. We surface, spit and cry.
(Fantasy Challenge)
under the mountains of night
i will pretend that you are here, shadowed
in headlights, that we are here in the greyhound station, butte
montana, 3 a.m. rest stop, two rows
of chairs inside, pepsi machine by the wall, its blue sign
signalling victory, a half dozen guys
leaning huddled against the wall out here,
i will pretend that i am from a snowblown icebound
city on the far inland plains, it is october,
there are claws of ice gripping the ground
in the bus station garage, i am shocked
to be in a place with ice not dressed for winter climate,
as though i had never stood anywhere cold before, i will pretend
i feel naked here, gritting my teeth in the cold,
not cold really but night and ice,
glare lights in the bus station, the men
waiting shivering by the wall blink
at me blink at each other blink at someplace else,
i will pretend that i have always felt this way
around you, naked and shivering,
you come toward me out of the shadows
tall and cool, slow hands and quick voice, you look
at me your eyes warm with night
knowing more than i do, a sky of knowledge,
you see into the wells within me,
the water quivers in the light of your knowledge of me,
i will pretend you come toward me,
you say something to me and my words grow silent,
and i move into myself and touch water,
and i know that i know nothing of the answers
but the questions have never been so beautiful,
i will pretend that we are here, standing here
in the noise and quiet of night and cold,
the bus is going to leave soon
and we are both quiet,
the mountains and plains will be filled
with night, it will be warmer tomorrow,
i will pretend this, i will pretend,
because it could be true,
that one day i will see you again,
we will speak to each other again, here
in this world lit by ghosts and dreams.
i will pretend that you are here, shadowed
in headlights, that we are here in the greyhound station, butte
montana, 3 a.m. rest stop, two rows
of chairs inside, pepsi machine by the wall, its blue sign
signalling victory, a half dozen guys
leaning huddled against the wall out here,
i will pretend that i am from a snowblown icebound
city on the far inland plains, it is october,
there are claws of ice gripping the ground
in the bus station garage, i am shocked
to be in a place with ice not dressed for winter climate,
as though i had never stood anywhere cold before, i will pretend
i feel naked here, gritting my teeth in the cold,
not cold really but night and ice,
glare lights in the bus station, the men
waiting shivering by the wall blink
at me blink at each other blink at someplace else,
i will pretend that i have always felt this way
around you, naked and shivering,
you come toward me out of the shadows
tall and cool, slow hands and quick voice, you look
at me your eyes warm with night
knowing more than i do, a sky of knowledge,
you see into the wells within me,
the water quivers in the light of your knowledge of me,
i will pretend you come toward me,
you say something to me and my words grow silent,
and i move into myself and touch water,
and i know that i know nothing of the answers
but the questions have never been so beautiful,
i will pretend that we are here, standing here
in the noise and quiet of night and cold,
the bus is going to leave soon
and we are both quiet,
the mountains and plains will be filled
with night, it will be warmer tomorrow,
i will pretend this, i will pretend,
because it could be true,
that one day i will see you again,
we will speak to each other again, here
in this world lit by ghosts and dreams.
This Probably Will Make No Sense (Fantasy Challenge)
This Probably Will Make No Sense (Not Even to You)
For the sake of fantasy, we’re in New Orleans
right before the ballerina strips, rips
off her tutu and point shoes. I am an armless
goddess and you are an octopus.
Yes, there will be mottling, blots
that can only be interpreted afterwards,
and a mouth so hard it hurts and an unforgiving
eye that never blinks. You’ll do tricks,
change the color of your skin to blend
into the sheets, the painting of a strange
yet familiar landscape, the carpet: Urine
or sepia, dusk or violet, ocean
or cerulean. And squeeze your spineless
self into amazingly tiny places, small
as pill bottles, narrow as the neck of a sweating
Cocoa Cola. Eventually, the black sky—
the stars will swarm low and unreliable
as fireflies—will be our ceiling
and the black water—a dog will paddle past
in search of his beloved master
or vice versa—our floor. The bed,
of course, our raft. We’ll be stranded; trapped.
Only then will you wrap your flimsy limbs
around my hard body, every suction
cup gripping that slippery surface
as if to say: Everything will be all right.
But it’s my fantasy, so your gesture will be lost
on me. All bite, all white, all sight,
I’ll accidentally on purpose misinterpret.
All blight, all light, all tight;
all night. That’s when you’ll vanish
in a cloud of ink, disgusted.
For the sake of fantasy, we’re in New Orleans
right before the ballerina strips, rips
off her tutu and point shoes. I am an armless
goddess and you are an octopus.
Yes, there will be mottling, blots
that can only be interpreted afterwards,
and a mouth so hard it hurts and an unforgiving
eye that never blinks. You’ll do tricks,
change the color of your skin to blend
into the sheets, the painting of a strange
yet familiar landscape, the carpet: Urine
or sepia, dusk or violet, ocean
or cerulean. And squeeze your spineless
self into amazingly tiny places, small
as pill bottles, narrow as the neck of a sweating
Cocoa Cola. Eventually, the black sky—
the stars will swarm low and unreliable
as fireflies—will be our ceiling
and the black water—a dog will paddle past
in search of his beloved master
or vice versa—our floor. The bed,
of course, our raft. We’ll be stranded; trapped.
Only then will you wrap your flimsy limbs
around my hard body, every suction
cup gripping that slippery surface
as if to say: Everything will be all right.
But it’s my fantasy, so your gesture will be lost
on me. All bite, all white, all sight,
I’ll accidentally on purpose misinterpret.
All blight, all light, all tight;
all night. That’s when you’ll vanish
in a cloud of ink, disgusted.
Fantasy Challenge - PLEASE READ AND HONOR MY REQUEST
I only want to see poems for the Fantasy Challenge posted for the next two days. We have two days left. Deadline is September 15th. I want to get our donations out the RED CROSS. If you are not sure what I am referring to, scroll down.
Lorna see if you can give us a winner, second place and honorary mention by the 16th.
Thank you.
Didi
Lorna see if you can give us a winner, second place and honorary mention by the 16th.
Thank you.
Didi
Monday, September 12, 2005
How to get Immediate Help to Hurricane Victims
Cash donations are needed, but in Michael Moore Speaks Out you'll also find a mailing address with a list of supplies that volunteers helping the population cope RIGHT NOW need the most. Lots of links here, too. Donations are tax deductable. Many can't wait for the cash donations to come through agencies right at this moment. Those will help more and more as time goes by.
Pass this along to anybody you feel will send supplies. A friend of mine has a brother in Alabama. His house is uninhabitable. He's run out of clean clothes. The only contact was by short wave radio until a couple of days ago and now his cell is partially workable. No-one can get through yet to his area without authorization. He's also low on food and water. There's no gas so he gets around using his bicycle.
Pris
Pass this along to anybody you feel will send supplies. A friend of mine has a brother in Alabama. His house is uninhabitable. He's run out of clean clothes. The only contact was by short wave radio until a couple of days ago and now his cell is partially workable. No-one can get through yet to his area without authorization. He's also low on food and water. There's no gas so he gets around using his bicycle.
Pris
hey guys miporadio gets a nice mention at Cloudy Day
listen in.....
Don't forget to send me audio for the show or point me to your blog.
Didi
Don't forget to send me audio for the show or point me to your blog.
Didi
Sunday, September 11, 2005
ScribeSpirit - An Unity Illuminata sponsored eZine
ScribeSpirit - An Unity Illuminata sponsored eZine
Recently I had the pleasure of being introduced to Jody Kuchar by way of Ron Hudson. Jody has a penchant for making me spew coffee, a perfectly pedicured parrot, and a very exciting new bi-monthly and bi-lingual eZine called ScribeSpirit.
This is an international literary project with contributors from 4 continents whose aim is to celebrate the collaboration of writers, artists, social workers and professionals in an effort to promote art, culture, and social reform. They want to cross generation gaps, and the lines drawn by societal misconceptions. They want to promote values such as education, conservation and economics. In short, they want to promote diversity and unity. Their position is that:
Issue one, "Inspiration" was launched on September 5th, 2005, and is currently under construction on the temporary server at ScribeSpirit [link].
Issue two, on the theme of "Living Arrangements" is pending. Currently the contributors include L. Jody Kuchar, Paula Pedroso, Christine Lehmann, and Ron Hudson. They're also currently looking for like-minded artists, poets and authors to join in the culmination of their second edition. If you feel you have something you'd like to contribute, contact Jody at jodykuch@mac.com for submissions guidelines. Please add "guidelines" to the subject line.
Recently I had the pleasure of being introduced to Jody Kuchar by way of Ron Hudson. Jody has a penchant for making me spew coffee, a perfectly pedicured parrot, and a very exciting new bi-monthly and bi-lingual eZine called ScribeSpirit.
This is an international literary project with contributors from 4 continents whose aim is to celebrate the collaboration of writers, artists, social workers and professionals in an effort to promote art, culture, and social reform. They want to cross generation gaps, and the lines drawn by societal misconceptions. They want to promote values such as education, conservation and economics. In short, they want to promote diversity and unity. Their position is that:
"Social reform should not be a grim struggle or constant battle; there is joy in collaborative efforts, and we believe that change should be celebratory."
Issue one, "Inspiration" was launched on September 5th, 2005, and is currently under construction on the temporary server at ScribeSpirit [link].
Issue two, on the theme of "Living Arrangements" is pending. Currently the contributors include L. Jody Kuchar, Paula Pedroso, Christine Lehmann, and Ron Hudson. They're also currently looking for like-minded artists, poets and authors to join in the culmination of their second edition. If you feel you have something you'd like to contribute, contact Jody at jodykuch@mac.com for submissions guidelines. Please add "guidelines" to the subject line.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Sun Rising Poetry Contest
The above link is to a poetry competition that I just found out about.
It's run by Sun Rising Press and the prize is to have your poem published.
The competition runs for 12 months and if you are chosen ... well read about it for yourself, but the ultimate prize is a book of your own poems published by them. Cool huh?
It's run by Sun Rising Press and the prize is to have your poem published.
The competition runs for 12 months and if you are chosen ... well read about it for yourself, but the ultimate prize is a book of your own poems published by them. Cool huh?
"Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet" —hay(na)ku experiment by L. D. Cervantes
Hey all,
I just finished my abecedarian hay(na)ku suite. You can check it out on my blog. I don't know how long I'll leave them up there. You can print them up and make your own dam book, that is, a backed up river of a long poem into some kind of reservoir: a meditation on (what else?) love, and consequent consequences. Each letter is a character which represents something; there are clues scattered throughout as they were revealed to me. Kinda like weegee board poetry, the Spirits spelling it out for me as I tell, telling me their poems.
Hey, it's late.
If you print them out, you could use my Amazon pay system to throw me a few bucks, as did Eduardo Corral (thanks!) which enabled me to buy the cartridge to print them out for myself; or, send me your book. Yeah.
This suite will most likely appear in my new book, now nearly complete, entitled Una poca de gracia/ Bit of Grace, poemas y antipoemas de amor.
Buen provecho!
~ Lorna Dee Cervantes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Abecedarian Hay(na)ku Experiment:
"Towards A: New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"B Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"C-ing Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet to D"
"Towards E's New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards An Effin' New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards, G, A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards H's New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards the Alpha bet's New Beginning of I"
"Towards J's New Beginning of the Alpha bet Towards D"
"O', 'K Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards L: A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards M's Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"N' Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"O, Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet!"
"Towards P, A New, Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"The Q — Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"R U Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet?"
"S According To A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet To A T"
"Towards U, A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"V! Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards W — A New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
"Towards X Beginning, Anew, the Alpha bet"
"Y Towards A New Beginning of the Alpha bet?"
"Towards Z New Beginning of the Alpha bet"
* It was one-a-day, folks! August 15 - September 9, 2005.
more hay(na)ku at Eileen Tabio's, inventor of hay(na)ku form (1/2/3 word tercets) & at Didi Menéndez' group blog, Café Café. Go there to read my comments to Pris regarding this suite.
I just finished my abecedarian hay(na)ku suite. You can check it out on my blog. I don't know how long I'll leave them up there. You can print them up and make your own dam book, that is, a backed up river of a long poem into some kind of reservoir: a meditation on (what else?) love, and consequent consequences. Each letter is a character which represents something; there are clues scattered throughout as they were revealed to me. Kinda like weegee board poetry, the Spirits spelling it out for me as I tell, telling me their poems.
Hey, it's late.
If you print them out, you could use my Amazon pay system to throw me a few bucks, as did Eduardo Corral (thanks!) which enabled me to buy the cartridge to print them out for myself; or, send me your book. Yeah.
This suite will most likely appear in my new book, now nearly complete, entitled Una poca de gracia/ Bit of Grace, poemas y antipoemas de amor.
Buen provecho!
~ Lorna Dee Cervantes
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Abecedarian Hay(na)ku Experiment:
* It was one-a-day, folks! August 15 - September 9, 2005.
more hay(na)ku at Eileen Tabio's, inventor of hay(na)ku form (1/2/3 word tercets) & at Didi Menéndez' group blog, Café Café. Go there to read my comments to Pris regarding this suite.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Dobie Gillis
Dobie Gillis is dead. He seems to have been a nice enough man. And he could always get a giggle from televiewers.
But an icon?
He reminds me of Alfred Newman (of "what me worry?" fame), a perfect image of innocence -- and cultural vacuity. Gilligan's Island, along with hours and years of empty sitcoms, put America to sleep. Maynard Krebs sanitized beatniks -- when we were in deparate need of nasty, smelly poets. Michael Moore is as close as we get these days.
Dobie Killis died just as Katrina waked up the narcolepsy-inducing media. Let's see if NBC can stuff consciousness back in the box.
But an icon?
He reminds me of Alfred Newman (of "what me worry?" fame), a perfect image of innocence -- and cultural vacuity. Gilligan's Island, along with hours and years of empty sitcoms, put America to sleep. Maynard Krebs sanitized beatniks -- when we were in deparate need of nasty, smelly poets. Michael Moore is as close as we get these days.
Dobie Killis died just as Katrina waked up the narcolepsy-inducing media. Let's see if NBC can stuff consciousness back in the box.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
they called september, after you
became scarecrow & straw & after
yr meeting with the fire marshall
as you were rustled out of town,
astonished. then they were cocktail
get-ups to be dressed-in & since there
were pallbearers we had ourselves
a funeral. uncorked the firewater
& called apologetic the neglected
phone numbers. there were some
with just one star & some with dark
ballpointed anger. heard you’d gone
desert wildfire, or were picked up
shoplifting. somethings headstrong,
somethings awry, however you tell.
but still made for an interesting story.
yr meeting with the fire marshall
as you were rustled out of town,
astonished. then they were cocktail
get-ups to be dressed-in & since there
were pallbearers we had ourselves
a funeral. uncorked the firewater
& called apologetic the neglected
phone numbers. there were some
with just one star & some with dark
ballpointed anger. heard you’d gone
desert wildfire, or were picked up
shoplifting. somethings headstrong,
somethings awry, however you tell.
but still made for an interesting story.
Send a Poem to Support New Orleans Survivors
This is a copy of an email I received this morning. I thought some of you here would like to contribute. If I have done this right the link should be in the title.
Hello All,
Well, I know many of you out there are devastated by what has happened in our southern states and I want to help raise money for those affected. I will be adding poems to my web-site under the title, Poets Who Support Survivors. What I need is for anyone who has, or will, donate money to any agency that is helping with the disaster to e-mail me one poem to be added to the web-site. I would like some proof that the poet has made a contribution, a copy of a receipt, forward an e-mail receipt if you donated online, just something that lets me know you have contributed. But I will not exclude anyone that tells me they have donated to the cause, I will trust each of you to be truthful about what you have done for the survivors. The purpose of this is to get people to donate to those who need it so desperately now.
The poems do not have to be related to the tragedy, or about the hurricane. It may be too soon at present to compose such a poem that would meet our own requirements of quality. Just send me a poem you would submit to another magazine, something that has been worked on and that you feel is worthy of being published. (Previously published work is acceptable as long as you send along the information of the first publication.) I will not exclude any poem because of quality for the PWSS page, but will exclude any poems I feel are degrading or too sexual in nature, this is for the people and I want them, when and if they are able, to come and see those poets who have contributed to their cause, and receive some sort of escape through reading poetry.
There is also another reason to only send your best work for posting to the page dedicated to survivors: I will be picking the ten best poems, in my opinion, to be included in the first issue of Small Potatoes Magazine, and will be paying each contributor to the magazine twenty dollars. This will be my donation to the survivors. If I can get others to donate through this effort then my two hundred dollars will have been well spent. Hopefully this effort will raise more than the two hundred dollars I would have donated anyway to the relief agencies. Yes, I’ve already made a few donations, but how much is enough in this time of need? I cannot give as much as I want, but with everyone else donating then I can feel better about what I have done and what we have done as a group.
So make that donation, dig out that poem, then submit it with your receipt to be included in the Poets Who Support Survivors, and possibly be included in the first issue of Small Potatoes Magazine. I will attempt to keep an ongoing amount of what has been donated by the poets (The amount donated is not required to be included.), but I will not be mentioning the amount each poet donated. It is the total of the group that matters, not the individual amounts.
Thank you for your interest and your donations. Please forward your submissions and receipts to sirruspoe@hotmail.com And pass along this information to others you feel may be interested in donating to the relief effort. Remember: Even if you have already made your donation in the past you can still be included.
Sincerely,
Sirrus Poe
I will also include poems from those who have volunteered their time to help those in need. Please let me know where, and how, you volunteered. I know we all do not have the funds to donate money, but this is the easiest way to help those in need and what all the relief agencies are asking for instead of other items.
Please do pass along this information along to any other poets or poetry boards where you feel they might be interested. I am also working on getting the poems selected for the Magazine issue to be published as a chapbook (don't mention that yet, it is in the process and I'll give an update when I get something finalized in that department), so there are many reasons to help those in need.
Thank you guys and gals, I look forward to adding your poems to the website and possibly to the magazine.
Sirrus Poe
Hello All,
Well, I know many of you out there are devastated by what has happened in our southern states and I want to help raise money for those affected. I will be adding poems to my web-site under the title, Poets Who Support Survivors. What I need is for anyone who has, or will, donate money to any agency that is helping with the disaster to e-mail me one poem to be added to the web-site. I would like some proof that the poet has made a contribution, a copy of a receipt, forward an e-mail receipt if you donated online, just something that lets me know you have contributed. But I will not exclude anyone that tells me they have donated to the cause, I will trust each of you to be truthful about what you have done for the survivors. The purpose of this is to get people to donate to those who need it so desperately now.
The poems do not have to be related to the tragedy, or about the hurricane. It may be too soon at present to compose such a poem that would meet our own requirements of quality. Just send me a poem you would submit to another magazine, something that has been worked on and that you feel is worthy of being published. (Previously published work is acceptable as long as you send along the information of the first publication.) I will not exclude any poem because of quality for the PWSS page, but will exclude any poems I feel are degrading or too sexual in nature, this is for the people and I want them, when and if they are able, to come and see those poets who have contributed to their cause, and receive some sort of escape through reading poetry.
There is also another reason to only send your best work for posting to the page dedicated to survivors: I will be picking the ten best poems, in my opinion, to be included in the first issue of Small Potatoes Magazine, and will be paying each contributor to the magazine twenty dollars. This will be my donation to the survivors. If I can get others to donate through this effort then my two hundred dollars will have been well spent. Hopefully this effort will raise more than the two hundred dollars I would have donated anyway to the relief agencies. Yes, I’ve already made a few donations, but how much is enough in this time of need? I cannot give as much as I want, but with everyone else donating then I can feel better about what I have done and what we have done as a group.
So make that donation, dig out that poem, then submit it with your receipt to be included in the Poets Who Support Survivors, and possibly be included in the first issue of Small Potatoes Magazine. I will attempt to keep an ongoing amount of what has been donated by the poets (The amount donated is not required to be included.), but I will not be mentioning the amount each poet donated. It is the total of the group that matters, not the individual amounts.
Thank you for your interest and your donations. Please forward your submissions and receipts to sirruspoe@hotmail.com And pass along this information to others you feel may be interested in donating to the relief effort. Remember: Even if you have already made your donation in the past you can still be included.
Sincerely,
Sirrus Poe
I will also include poems from those who have volunteered their time to help those in need. Please let me know where, and how, you volunteered. I know we all do not have the funds to donate money, but this is the easiest way to help those in need and what all the relief agencies are asking for instead of other items.
Please do pass along this information along to any other poets or poetry boards where you feel they might be interested. I am also working on getting the poems selected for the Magazine issue to be published as a chapbook (don't mention that yet, it is in the process and I'll give an update when I get something finalized in that department), so there are many reasons to help those in need.
Thank you guys and gals, I look forward to adding your poems to the website and possibly to the magazine.
Sirrus Poe
First-hand account from New Orleans
In her blog California Writer, poet Julia Stein has copied and pasted an article by Jordan Flaherty, a New Orleans union organizer and editor of Left Turn. In the article gives a powerful and beautiful account of escaping from a house by boat, the conditions of chaos in an emergency camp, and of life in New Orleans as he has known it.
The California Writer link above is to the main page of the blog -- the article, posted Sept. 4, is titled "News from Inside New Orleans."
I like Julia Stein's poetry much, and I visit her blog often.
The California Writer link above is to the main page of the blog -- the article, posted Sept. 4, is titled "News from Inside New Orleans."
I like Julia Stein's poetry much, and I visit her blog often.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Katrina Displaced MFA Students Invited to Transfer to CU Boulder
See info on my blog if you know of Creative Writing grad students displaced by Katrina interested in transferring to CU Boulder:
LornaDice: "Erin Bertram - Katrina Displaced Students Invited to Transfer to CU Boulder
Reports from New Orleans
I have been posting reports from New Orleans that may be of interest to you.
See http://chucklev.blogspot.com
See http://chucklev.blogspot.com
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