Terpischore’s Atrium with Jeremiah Walton
3.The most striking aspect about your poems is their exploration of the jagged, raw, and scarred realms of language and human experience, as opposed to the prim manicured composition many of the poets strive for. Poems such as ‘Campfire Psalms of the Lost and Angry ’,‘ Fearful 3 and ‘Where I found God’ are beautiful and unique precisely because of their haunting imagery, forceful language and a…
21st Century Youth Poets
With friends at the bridge (NH)
Happy National Poetry Month! To kick it off, we’re celebrating some younger poets who are making moves where most of us haven’t yet.
The youth is critical. They are the next step, our successors. One over arching focus, with all my literary projects, is to promote to the youth, my peers.
I graduated High School the spring of 2013. I spent that time cutting…
Declare imagination independent
scare the chickensouls
Songs of Walmart
once more sung
Chicago’s envious woman with guns sing
Hang blankets over the van’s windows
I was distracted
remiscining Buffalo &
dropping the dollar.
Buenos Aires by Hannah Jancosko I found Van Gogh on a bus bound For Buenos Aires. The windows… http://wp.me/s3JPPA-452
To My Generation: Words Are Metal by Andrea Bustillo
Like handling eggs,
we must manage words with care,
and choose them with a keen eye.
Be cautious of the tongue,
for it has an excess chunk of power.
Words can be as comforting as the stuffed
bear I’ve had since birth,
yet harder and colder than
a cot at…
And listen to that trumpet wail, the truckstop frozen in its spit
Arizona Truck Stop Blues
by Seth Brunson
Cold wind, rain, and snow
in the low desert again
crying myself to sleep
right around the bend
You didn’t see me there
a tear frozen on my cheek
in the pin-prick stilted air
a man crumpled in a heap
Under a thorn…
The Three Stooges and the One Stoogete by S. Patrick Cunningham
These three stooges lived out on the beach.
I went and lived among them to see what it was like.
it was some dark alleyway when the cops came rolling by and
we all vaulted this chain link fence so they wouldn’t see our red eyes.
they tried to kick me outta…
Under My Bunned Hair by Jill Fredenburg
In the Blue Plate diner the dishes crash,
the screen door yawns and lets in a warm breeze,
and cotton ﬁelds hang on walls while I beat
my knuckles against the Quarter-at-Goodwill
table. I’ve got a rhythm down by now.
My fantasies are my active engines,
Raise the black flag!
Anarchy earnestly sobs
a wince of abuse,
harlot mother of many.
Schmutzig by Marta Palandri
all the love I’ve given
on shores like on benches
in bedrooms which smelled
after interrupted desires
on the dirty roads of the city
in many different cities
under rain that washed my senses
by the windows of many houses
during nights that i wished never…
I’m The Vessel by Joe Frostey Foster
I’m the vessel, looking for a friend.
There is a long road for destruction,
when the only…
Youth writer spotlight: Liv-Christine Hoem
I became aware of Liv-Christine Hoem and her poetry through a submission to W.I.S.H. Publishing. This Norwegian youth poet detours around a lot of bullshit we young writers write, and goes with elegant imagery and wording, acting as a painter.