Friday, November 30, 2012

Call to Oz

Now that the bushfire winds are here, the cicadas are beginning to chirp, and our cricketers are on the verge of reclaiming number one Test ranking (it will happen, believe me!), I have a yen for more poetry from this scorched isle. I don't see enough of it and would like to see a lot more in my inbox. As usual, pay close attention to the submission guidelines in the sidebar, especially the bit about the speed and nature of my responses. May you all get through this heatwave a few kilos lighter but otherwise brimming with Yuletide cheer and inspiration!

Thursday, November 29, 2012

New Poetry by Holly Day

After the Phone Call

my husband crouches in the bathtub, arms
around his chest, knees drawn up, folded so small
I could fit in the space of water behind him
wrap my arms around him, put my head
against his back, I could climb into that space
so easily
but I don't.

my husband huddles on his side of the bed
curled so tightly around himself he barely
makes a knot in the blankets tossed over him
for warmth, for extra camouflage. he lies there,
eyes open, staring at the wall, I
can only hear his breathing
when I hold my own breath.

- Holly Day 2012

This Guy I Saw Sitting in a Car

He was parked in the lot at Thrifty's Drug buck naked save for
A big white cowboy hat and a pair of dark sunglasses he was
Holding onto his erect penis and grinning proudly and happily 
                                                                                    like his penis
Was a prize he had won as a bowling trophy or at a carnival 
Or like it was something a teacher had given him for being
A real good boy in school instead of a gold star or one of those
Phony certificates of accomplishments that can be traded in
For a cheeseburger at McDonald's with the purchase of a
Large drink.

- Holly Day 2012

Holly Day is a housewife and mother of two living in Minneapolis, Minnesota who teaches needlepoint classes in the Minneapolis school district. Her poetry has recently appeared in Hawai'i Pacific Review, The Oxford American, and Slipstream, and she is a recent recipient of the Sam Ragan Poetry Prize from Barton College. Her book publications include Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar-All-in-One for Dummies, and Music Theory for Dummies, which has recently been translated into French, Dutch, German, Spanish, Russian, and Portuguese. 

Friday, November 23, 2012

New Poetry by Phillip Ellis

"Ut pictura poesis"

The turntable taps as it hisses,
one for the spirit of dead music,
over and over again
like a rap against an empty door
behind which there is no truth hidden,
and when I have entered the room,
battered the night with what's recessed,
and cast it outdoors
where it taps on the windows
in fingers ringed with beetles,
I do not contemplate
the uselessness of all that is art.

There is no time for that.

- Phillip Ellis 2012

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Bluepepper comes a close second!


contact info.:

Sharing More Than Poems Makes Open Mic Voices Most Popular Poetry Social Network In The World

Willimantic, CT November 13, 2012 -- the world's poetry social network, responded to the latest news about Google ranking Open Mic Voices the best poetry social network on the planet.

"We have only just begun," smiles Henry Hunter, Founder and CEO of Open Mic Voices, "Google is the world's most popular information resource, by far, on the internet, 80% of all people on the web get their information from Google. So, being ranked by Google as the best poetry social network in the world is extremely rewarding and will keep us focused on uniting the world through the common language of poetry. It's incredible to see your idea come to life and the world embrace that idea. Open Mic Voices is about people, from all over the world, who speak one language on Open Mic Voices: Poetry." 

While earning Googles recognition for being the best poetry social network on the planet, Open Mic Voices is more focused on meeting it's goal of getting people to share poetry, worlwide. It is free to join Open Mic Voices and everyone is welcome. Members of the popular poetry social network write poems, share feedback, share poetry website links, share poetry events and places for poetry. Members, also, upload audio poetry and video poems right from their home computer. Open Mic Voices encourages socializing and sharing amongst members, so there are no limits on how many friend requests that a member may send to other members of the site.

Open Mic Voices members range from Ivy League professors to high school dropouts, published poets to novice poets, with traffic to the site coming from over 180 geographical countries, and 80% of Open Mic Voices members are female. "We are all inclusive, " states Henry. "People love to share all things poetry and we are playing a major part in poetry's growth on the internet. Poetry can't grow unless we all share it. We invite places that feature poetry, educational institutions, poetry groups, book publishers, and so on, to create a profile in our community and help bring poetry together." Open Mic Voices has a Page rank of 3, an amazing rank for a 9 month old website, and it is listed by the internet's foremost authority on website traffic,, as the highest ranking poetry social network in the United States.


Open Mic Voices launched February 01, 2012, by brothers James and Henry Hunter. is a poetry social network connecting people who enjoy poetry, worldwide. For more information:


Or email:

Monday, November 19, 2012

New Poetry by William G. Davies Jr.


In the dirt cellar
panes of glass
show light
in Milk-Of-Magnesia.
A steamer trunk
like a sarcophagus
closed then opened
at Christmas
as if the grave
is never sacrosanct
but born anew
through centipedes, spiders
apples and potatoes.
Inside, cedar- redolent
thin as drum skin,
adamant as the
Innkeeper at Bethlehem.

- William G. Davies Jr. 2012

Saturday, November 17, 2012

New Poetry by Michael Keshigian


On the seventh day
there really was no rest.
It was the serpent
who approached God
with an apple,
crushed it with his powerful abs.
“Applesauce,” he muttered,
but God told him to keep it to himself.
The snake curled into a question mark,
slithered over to Eve
who rubbed it all over her body,
called over Adam
who licked off every tasty drop
but left Eve panting.
“Don’t go,” she cried, but Adam
had a shelter to build.
The serpent snickered
until Eve grabbed him
and showed him a wild time.
God told Adam,
who despondent at the news,
tried to hang himself
with a vine in the garden.
The serpent attempted to explain,
but the sauce
and Eve’s choke hold
gagged his syllables.
Eve, finally satisfied,
started stomping on the snake.
Now every time the snake shows up,
she winks at him
until Adam smashes it with a club.
God is pleased,
though everything still goes to hell.

- Michael Keshigian 2012

Michael Keshigian has been widely published in numerous national and international journals and appeared as feature writer in over a dozen publications. Recently, his collection of poems entitled Lunar Images, was set to music for Clarinet, Piano, and Narrator by Boston composer Dennis Leclaire and premiered at Del Mar College in Texas on November 5, 2010. A Boston premier took place on March 7, 2011 at the Berklee College of Music and a September 2011 performance occurred in Moleto, Italy. (

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

New Poetry by Kathryn Guelcher


Once love has been established
there is always someone else
who ignites anxiety. Not the,
are-you- having- an –affair
sort of worry. It’s more the,
if- his- wife- and- I- were- both- hit- by-
buses-you- would- remarry- each-other
kind of concern.

For my part, there is only one
named Brittney.
(since Lauren with dead eyes is out of reach)
Brittney is barely twenty-something
with a figure.
She is nice and thinks my husband is funny.
And he teases her.
And she loves him
almost openly
because she can.
When, one Friday, he asked her
what the work drama was there,
she placed a sure hand on his hip
and suggested they create some.

This makes me like her. Sort of.
It makes me remember fondly
the aching enchantment
that is hers
but mostly mine.

I went there once in the heat of summer
to be analyzed, apparently.
Under her youthful, sideways glare, I felt
the weight of motherhood and envy and age
also confidence and contentment.

Mostly I felt glad that I had gotten
there so many years earlier,
twenty-something myself and glad also
that there were no buses
in sight on that long stretch of back road

- Kathryn Guelcher 2012

Monday, November 12, 2012

New Words and Pictures by Wayne H. W Wolfson

Blue Absinthe

The waitress told me they were having a special for today on it. The cynic in me assumed that either no one was buying it and they were trying to bleed off their stock or that a vendor had given them some sample bottles for a trial run and they just wanted to get rid of it. I had my head down in "Toilers of the Sea" and so passively shrugged my shoulders. She lit a cigarette, her gaze traveling down the street looking for the cat whose territory this area was. The drinks came, it was really blue not the wraith like pastel blue as one would have supposed. I drank it anyways, it was a little sharper than the usual stuff, i popped peanuts from the little white bowl to counter act it. Finishing my drink at first I felt a coolness akin to when one steps outside on a cold winter night, then my body involuntarily shuddered...we were right down the street from home luckily...passing the Hemingway plaque I saluted it as I did when in a good mood. My shoes were cutting into my shirt was pulling tight across my back. Oddly I had to duck my head to get into the door which was not usually the case. I asked her to help me get my shoes off they were killing me with their tightness now. She laughed saying I was lazy as I had drunk much more than this before, I was just being dramatic. My body shuddered again...I got my clothes off just before my height shot up to what I estimated to be between 12-15 feet. I was not used to the change in perspective nor the extra weight involved in my growth. "We have to cancel dinner..." The only thing that fit was my bathrobe and that covered nothing up, I kept knocking into furniture and bumping my head, I was becoming wound up like an animal from the wild who accidentally finds its way indoors. She petted my hand told me to calm down and suggested I just get into bed as I would be more comfortable and it was safer. I got in bed, she put some Jelly Roll on to further calm me. I was told;

"Ok now breathe in...breathe out...."

The panic stopped. Unless I was on my side or bent my knees I did not fit fully on the bed. The thought of the physical mechanics of us, with me in this state popped into my head. I said her name and was about to give her my look when a railroad spike went right into my forehead killing the mood and causing me to yelp. She said that she would make coffee and if that did not help she would run back to the cafe after to ask the waitress how long the effects lasted. 
I drank the coffee which was too hot for my taste out of the little doll cup. I felt tired now.
"Want me to go?"
"You should run down and check, don't mess things up for me there, they just started pouring for me with a heavy hand and throwing free rounds my way, I do not need you ruining a hang out by breaking the waitress's heart. "
Were it not for the rest of the situation she would have pulled more of a face but right now things dipped in my favor on the scoreboard, there was always tomorrow though..

- Wayne H. W Wolfson 2012

Wednesday, November 07, 2012

New poetry by Ivan Jenson

You Noticed

I just disappear
into the patterns
of the tablecloth
and wallpaper
and at other times
I am the floral
sometimes I
am the embarrassing
coffee stain
but sometimes
I am the
vintage wine
I am the
apple cider
of your eyes
and then
I am as far
away as
the man on the
quarter moon
taking a cold
meteor shower
a sight only
a geek
with a telescope
would be
interested in
and sometimes
you give me
one hundred
percent of your
and I am
a crowned
prince of
and ruler
of your smile

- Ivan Jenson 2012

Scripted Lines

After negotiating
with the big boys
of Hollywood
I am now signing
with my barely legible
John Hancock
a finely printed
that my dreams
made of American
idioms, and
cute colloquialisms
with roots in
ancient latin
slurs and peppered
with up-to-the-minute
(to add that
authentic street cred)
will be transformed
into a glamorous
love and gorefest
a virtual visual feast
complete with
an A- list drama queen
and king
and I hereby hope
that this is the beginning
of my ragged riches
because my jagged journey
filled with speed bumps
has tired my spinning tires
and I would much prefer being
sun-glassed, spray-tanned
and jaded
in a window tinted

- Ivan Jenson 2012

Ivan Jenson’s Absolut Jenson painting was featured in Art News, Art in America, and Interview magazine. His art has sold at Christie’s, New York. His poems have appeared in Word Riot, Zygote in my Coffee, Camroc Press Review, Haggard and Halo, Poetry Super Highway, Mad Swirl, Underground Voices Magazine, Blazevox, and many other magazines, online and in print. Jenson is also a Contributing Editor for Commonline magazine. Ivan Jenson's debut novel Dead Artist is available as a paperback and on Amazon Kindle and Nook. His new novel a psychological thriller entitled Seeing Soriah is now available as an eBook or in Paperback on Amazon.

Monday, November 05, 2012

Ray throws a party

Littlefox Press warmly invites you to the launch of Ray Liversidge’s new poetry collection
no suspicious circumstances: portraits of poets (dead) 
with illustrations by Kathryn Bowden.

Thursday 22 November 2012

6.00pm for 6.30pm

Bella Union, Level 1, Trades Hall, Cnr of Victoria & Lygon Streets, Carlton South (Enter off Lygon Street)

Launch speaker:
Kevin Brophy

If you are unable to attend the launch but would like to buy a copy of the book please contact

Margie's Back


by MTC Cronin

Poetry | ISBN: 978 0 7022 4951 8 | November 2012 | B Paperback | 200pp | RRP $24.95

From one of Australia’s most daring poets, MTC Cronin, comes her eagerly awaited new volume of poetry The World Last Night. Rich, polished and delightful, the collection has confidence and grace as it moves from wit to whimsy, encompassing profundity with the lightest of touches. It is intellectually invigorating but wears this erudition lightly – there is a vital sense of joy running through the poems, and a beautiful evocation of the possibilities of a joyful life.

‘I can stick to straightforward words of praise, such as brilliance of technical address and originality of utterance, when describing her verse.’ Peter Porter, Age

‘These beautiful, contemplative poems are questions asked at the brink of the abyss.’ Rodney Hall