Poetry Published in the Fall edition of Poetry Quarterly by Prolific Press

Megha's World

So excited to be published in yet another print publication of Prolific Press – Poetry Quarterly Fall Edition 2019. Happy to see my poem ” As they grow” find its home in the pages of the PQ.

Prolific Press publishes 8 respected literary journals. Each journal publishes different literature, and each has a different flair.

Poetry Quarterly’s mission is to support poets and poetry by maintaining a professional venue for education and publication. They publish beautiful issues in paperback, and e-issues for our subscribers online.

The PQ Fall issue is very special, and quite large, featuring nearly 100 poets. This is a collection that readers will return to again and again. I’m absolutely thrilled with how this gorgeous book turned out.

You can order your paperback here and support the indie press.

Happy blogging!!

Megha Sood

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davidbrucehaiku: a good musical …

davidbruceblog #2

https://pixabay.com/photos/man-old-soloist-singing-guitar-4279622/

***

A good musical

should make you believe that yes,

folks just start singing

***

Hadley Freeman: “Forget Cats: in a close-run field, Marriage Storywas the musical highlight of my holiday”(Guardian)

“A good musical should make you believe that there really is a world where people spontaneously burst into song.”

***

Free davidbrucehaiku #16 eBook (pdf)

Free davidbrucehaiku #15 eBook (pdf)

Free davidbrucehaiku #14 eBook (pdf)

Free davidbrucehaiku #13 eBook (pdf)

Free davidbrucehaiku #12 eBook (pdf)

Free davidbrucehaiku #11 eBook (pdf)

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No Solution – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

parallax

RDP Sunday – Realm

Photo: cnn.com

“A shocking crime was committed on the unscrupulous initiative of few individuals, with the blessing of more, and amid the passive acquiescence of all.”  Tacitus

No Solution

The husk of man,
for it is a man rather than a woman,
is forever drained and dry,
burnt in the blinking of an eye
across the fields of loss and grief,
where the butcher’s hand is never stayed,
and the slice is always close to the bone
with the relentless search for
the cure of fear, which, as always
readily falls to cycles of war,
now favoured by the killing of a man
who was food as friend,
and sent to to the heavenly realm
of the great cloud of witnesses
who pray over our esteemed
and utter madness for blood to be
wasted on the unforgiving rocks of dogma.

©Paul Vincent Cannon

Paul, pvcann.com

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How To Write Poetry

Poet's Corner

Advice for blocked writers and aspiring poets from a Nobel Prize winner’s newspaper column. 

BY WISŁAWA SZYMBORSKA

INTRODUCTION

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/features/articles/detail/68657

In the Polish newspaper Literary Life, Nobel Prize winning poet Wislawa Szymborska answered letters from ordinary people who wanted to write poetry. Clare Cavanagh, translates these selections.

The following are selections from columns originally published in the Polish newspaper Literary Life. In these columns, famed poet Wislawa Szymborska answered letters from ordinary people who wanted to write poetry. Translated by Clare Cavanagh.

To Heliodor from Przemysl: “You write, ‘I know my poems have many faults, but so what, I’m not going to stop and fix them.’ And why is that, oh Heliodor? Perhaps because you hold poetry so sacred? Or maybe you consider it insignificant? Both ways of treating poetry are mistaken, and what’s worse, they free the novice poet from the necessity of working on his verses…

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Lavender Twilight Descends

Charmed Chaos

Another day ends as lavender twilight descends
A gentle breeze whispers with mockingbird’s trills
As the vibrant tangerine sun sinks and transcends
The brisk evening air tumbles, bringing cold chills

A gentle breeze whispers with mockingbird’s trills
Singing with his broken heart of melancholic love
The brisk evening air tumbles, bringing cold chills
As his voice carries through green boughs above

Singing with his broken heart of melancholic love
I’ve lived the agony of heartache he’s been through
As his voice carries through green boughs above
Crooning his sorrow in hues of dark indigo blue

I’ve lived the agony of heartache he’s been through
When vibrant tangerine sun sinks and transcends
He croons his sorrow in hues of dark indigo blue
Another day ends as lavender twilight descends.

Author’s note: I haven’t written a pantoum in while, and I love the form.

Poets and Storytelleres United: Pantry #1- Home…

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Spidey’s Serene Sunday – Part 253 – New Beginnings

Today’s Quote

Soul Gatherings

Something is waiting for us to make ground for it.
Something that lingers near us,
something that loves,
something that waits for the right ground to be made
so it can make its full presence known.

~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes ~
______________

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Taking Time To Remember Who I’am And What Makes Me Who I’am!

GlitzyRitzyMommy

Sometimes us parents get lost in all the chaos of our kids needs and necessities that we lose track of our own! Well,this is a normal response of having kids sometimes it leaves us lost and longing to switch the switch and remember what makes us tick! My kids have ALWAYS been my top priority and will continue to be, however, I also like many of you have desires and passions and things I see as enjoyment that just can’t and don’t happen anymore! Us parents run ourselves into the ground trying to do and be everything to our children and while that is expected and has to be, we also have a obligation to ourselves to live as well. If your like me finding that time is far and few between, I have been told I just need to make it happen! So after a highly chaotic day yesterday…

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Pulse of the Soul

Source of Inspiration

I take a breath
and live this moment
fully present
without regrets or fears.
I exhale as the next moment
arrives creating another now.
I do not remember the water I
drank last week. There is only
the exquisite awareness of this
tiny piece of reality where
raindrops fall in the sunlight
and I recognize the steady
pulse of my soul.

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119

elleguyence

a bubble, burst
each time a year passes, I
feel it a little more
a sensation like hourglass sand
slipping through my calloused hands

I think of fizzles
champagne, popped
cold, crisp, unsweetened
an overflowing farewell to what we leave behind
and a toast to all we hope is ahead

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