Archive for June, 2017

Manchester Cathedral Poetry Competition – closes June 30th

June 27, 2017
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Profiles in Leadership – James Wolfe

June 17, 2017

Poetry Special – (September 2014 / 14.18)

June 17, 2017

Blue Fifth Review: Blue Five Notebook Series

Poetry Special – (September 2014 / 14.18)
Graphing by Claire IbarraGraphing by Claire Ibarra

Artist, Claire Ibarra’s fiction and creative nonfiction have appeared in numerous literary journals, including The MacGuffin, Natural Bridge, Boston Literary Magazine, Blink-Ink, Amoskeag, Foliate Oak, The Broken Plate, and BluePrint Review. She is also a contributor to the anthology An Honest Lie, Vol.2: Delusions of Insignificance by Open Heart Publishing and the upcoming anthology Dreams of Duality by Red Skies Press.
 

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Laurie Kolp

Forbidden Fruit

I cradle time in arms of steel
your smile, your eyes, your hand in mine

crossing bridges, autumn leaves
a pile of clues I refused to see

the paws you dug beneath my shirt as shears,
breasted heaviness, your tongue.

I thought fruit signified love,
but you threw apples at my feet.

Laurie Kolp lives in Southeast Texas with her husband, three kids and…

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On giving feedback

June 15, 2017

Anthony Wilson

I found myself in the position of giving feedback to some writers recently. The writers were teachers who had signed up for two Master’s modules about writing. These comprised a critical look at how we teach writing, for which they needed to put together a research project evaluating their own practice via an analysis of pupils’ work; and a creative writing module consisting of a portfolio of creative pieces accompanied by a critical commentary. Guess which one I found harder to mark?

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A Short Analysis of Philip Larkin’s ‘Essential Beauty’

June 14, 2017

Source: A Short Analysis of Philip Larkin’s ‘Essential Beauty’

A Short Analysis of the ‘Humpty Dumpty’ Nursery Rhyme

June 8, 2017

Interesting Literature

The curious origins of a famous rhyme

Humpty Dumpty was originally a drink, then he became an egg in a nursery rhyme. Quite how this happened, nobody seems to know, but it did. The name ‘Humpty-dumpty’ was given to a drink of boiled ale and brandy in 1698, and that’s only the first known reference in print – the name is probably considerably older. By 1785, as Francis Grose recorded in his fascinating collection of contemporary slang, A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, the rhyming term had been applied to people, and was used specifically to describe a ‘short, dumpy, hump-shouldered person’ and, by extension, a clumsy person. But the words ‘Humpty-Dumpty’ mean one thing and one thing alone to most readers: an egg in the famous nursery rhyme which begins, ‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall’. What is the meaning of this little rhyme, and what are…

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“I’m not a city” and other poems by Kinga Fabó

June 7, 2017

Poethead; a poetry site

The Transfiguration of the Word

Open, the sea appeared asleep.
Carrying its waves.
A pulse under the muted winter scene.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

A nun-spot on the hot little body.
A color on the broken glass.
A gesture that was once closed.
Lovely as the sea stood up.
Throwing a smile on the beach.

I wanted to remain an object.
But, no, immortality is not mine.
I am too strong to defend myself.
Waiting for punishment.

This and the same happened together.
Silently, I sat in the glass.
Only the spot wandered on the naked scene.
Sounds did not continue.

Only an omitted gesture.
Happiness like an unmoving dancer.
Beatings on naked, bony back.

And the sea will no longer be immortal.

Translated by Zsuzsanna Ozsváth and Martha Satz
‘The Transfiguration of the word ‘ was first published in Osiris, 1992, Fall issue

Lovers

You are…

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Helen Freeman

June 6, 2017

The Open Mouse

On the Back Burner

I crush roast beans with my pestle
then throw grounds into water on a high flame
stirring till the colour succumbs and bubbles.
Bitterness rises within.

As I brew Madam’s coffee,
she engages in more crucial matters –
manicures and massage, her driver’s lateness
and yet another Riyadh wedding invitation.
The employer’s affairs, they say,
are not for me to censure.
I must learn my place. I must salute.

I stir and stir to prevent the overflow
that leaves such a splatter to scrub –
there’s a clasp here to master.
I drop cardamom pods into the darkness
adjusting the scent, and I’m home:

the bombs, my father under Aleppo rubble,
the hawk who sometimes hooked
meat from my palm long gone,
my inheritance expunged.
Count to ten. Breathe Dad always said
but look where that got him.

Heat dissipates, coffee cools
in the pot of…

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