Indie Blu(e) Publishing will be releasing an Anthology of Lesbian Poets later in 2019. Themes of this Anthology will include identity, coming out, relationship, family, love, loss, and sensuality (rather than graphic erotica.) The deadline for submissions is June 16, 2019. Submissions can be sent directly to firstname.lastname@example.org and should be accompanied by a brief biography not to exceed 75 words.
The maximum number of submissions per writer is FIVE.
Writing should be submitted as a Word or PDF attachment. If you choose to submit a poetry meme, the meme must be accompanied by the text in a Word or PDF version.
Artwork for the Anthology is also being accepted and must be able to be reproduced clearly in black and white.
Questions? Contact Candice Daquin at email@example.com.
Thank you for your interest.
for indifference is the sharpest
knife of the set
worse than anger which requires some care
and love that turns on her heel constantly
like a feathered Cuban girl in 1930s Havana
smiling, til her cheeks ache with sheer
it’s been some years since I danced for you
from shadows to light and back again
fooling myself into beauty, rendering
moments stamped in both our minds
for the joy of the unbound
my feet hennaed like an Indian wedding bride
your fingers possessed of music and silver rings
we wove our limbs together as plaited bread
baked in the glory of that unbroken hour
before ochre sun’s urgent assent and chime
of other people began lowing in impatient light
there is something about darkness I have always
felt contained magic and even if others do not see
I taste it on my tongue
I run my hands along
its quiet shining surface
much like a lake swallowing
a stone when thrown
with all the violence known
by one who feels
If you only consider buying one poetry book this month, then I urge you to consider this one. I had the honor of reviewing it and I can attest to it being a superb collection of poetry from an extremely talented author.
Sudden Denouement Publishing is proud to announce the release of Christine E. Ray’s book Composition of a Woman. “Poet Christine Ray’s first printed collection of poetry, Composition of a Woman (Sudden Denouement Press, 2018) is a striking, fearless foray into the psyche of womanhood, both highly relatable and intensely personal for female readers and achingly candid and fascinating […]
I was going through the list of who I am following on WordPress with a view of clearing out people who had stopped writing on their blog. It’s sad. All the good intentions we have, all the excellent names for blogs, the ideas, the effort, where do they go?
Interestingly; I noticed that many of the people who had depression and/or feminism in their title line were no longer writing. I wondered, is that a coincidence or do things that matter but are not popular (depression/feminism) die out?
Whilst I admire those who continue a blog for years, writing faithfully every day/week/month I would also say that many of the BEST writers are those who start blogs and never continue them. I wonder where they are now? I wonder if they are okay? It seems sad to see their potential and ideas lost.
When I was sick I didn’t write for a few months here-and-there but people knew I was still around. I wonder how long it takes to not be around and not be noticed if you are not around, I wonder how long it takes to vanish or feel you have vanished?
Upon joining WP I met with a small group of writers/poets/thinkers and they were my ‘first’ friends here. What is interesting is of those, some are still my dearest friends and some completely vanished and this after professing love and life-long friendship. Of those who vanished, either into their own egos or others, they were the loudest at proclaiming such undying friendship. Had I known then, they were just saying it, I wouldn’t have invested as much time in cultivating those friendships but not everyone is like that, usually only those who speak the loudest (and I wonder why that is?).
At times I am tempted to ask some of those who never keep in touch, what happened? Where’s the love? ha ha ha! Because they were SO VERY effusive and then like a raisin in the sun they dried up and went onto greener pastures … I guess that’s the whim of the budding author for you! Yeah I met a few of those too. I learned from that fickelty though. No matter what happens, I’ll never feel too self-important for those who were there for me.
Going through the list is like looking back on the years I have written on WP and all the people I have met. I feel so lucky to have met those people, so many of them I really count as TRUE friends and I care deeply for them. Others I may not be literal friends with but I admire what they do and who they are, very, very much. We are basically, a wonderful community and I feel richer for being here.
Let’s spare a moment for those who are not here. In our WP world we have lost people. Those who have died. Those who have become too sick to write. Those who are too depressed to write. Those who are not here and though we do not know why, they are gone. Let’s think about those people we met when we first began here, the faces and voices of those who are not here now for a myriad of reasons. I for one, do not forget them. It’s a bit like first-love, you don’t easily forget your first.
Thank you to Rita, Eric, Tony, Monique, Derick and Sabrina, some of the very ‘first tribe’ who welcomed me and whom I had here on WP, for still being around and still sending your sunshine my way regularly.
Oh, and if this teaches me anything, it is to appreciate someone whilst they are here and to try to always keep writing through life’s ups and downs and appreciate the value of people coming into your life and holding you to the light.
For Paul and Cynthia. We remember you.
She died, head in the oven
fingers black with ink, tongue out
licking her last punctuation
eyes rolled back, wet marbles
seeing beyond earthly confinement.
She died, with white gloves on
pinched bones of her little wrists
dangling at emptied angles
were delicate even then
as if she were choosing
with her ending
Clamboring, chiming, turning inside out for lack of space
Urging in one cold grey wave of fur and teeth
Lolling tongues, hot breath, slobber and frenzy
From a distance, life resembles a dark river
Cutting through early frost, hungry for warmth
And I think of the man who paints this bleeding scape
Of land into water and flesh undulating, back to earth
I wonder if he knows better than us, how close we are to one or the other
By just a pinch of his ink stained fingers, held up
To guage perspective, before he dips his brush and renders
This mist of mouths, graves and birth and sour roots, twisting through
Surviving even as skies douse and sun bakes flat, yet beneath myriad
A soup of souls closing and opening by ritual of tide
And still, life, clops down the cobbled street, hawking seasons from basket deep.
(Inspired by FEDERICO GARCÍA LORCA, especially the line, han venido los perros de plomo.)