Anthology – accepting poems

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 candicedaquin@gmail.com 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 candicedaquin@gmail.com.

Thank you for your interest.

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From the outskirts of safety

A child whose concave chest was already filled with debris

had been told she contained no worth

that child grew up soon enough to an adult with

penchant for self-hatred and did not master, necessary ladders and confidence

she could observe herself holding back, broken pieces unformed and bad

not supporting a part of her who wished to climb

and believe those good things to try her hardest

she saw others with so much faith and belief

light footed reach their goals and she saw the disappointment in others eyes when her own

efforts were hardly made

she left really, no significant imprint

of course, because of this, she became a poet

and that poet, if you can call someone who simply writes

such a thing

I would argue, it takes more than writing poetry to be a poet but that is another story …

had become lost in her years of wandering, to the point where

looking in the mirror she did not see herself anymore, but a shadow

perhaps a wraith or something strange, replacing whom she’d seen

as a child when there were posibilities and futures worthy of reaching

these years later, she stares at the shapes in her face

the ancestry printed there like leopard skin

where her mother changes to her grandmother and her father

and back again

and in this face she sees the excuses and the weak blood

of people she knew and loved and she sees the strength and the fire

of which she has none, as if she caught a glimpse of who she could have favored

and then it was removed, blotted out in a great gush of time and immobility

a few years ago she had suffered under an illusion of being on the cusp of something, finally

after years of working toward it, many hours, lost in pursuit

for a time it helped her to believe she was about to reach this new dawn

until like all the other times, she’d hoped, it was revealed to be no more than potent delusion

and that feeling, when you take the canvas off the future and find

nothing there but the madness of bewitched fantasy

in the hands of one who has become old and wretched in her walk

and you turn around and nobody is there anymore

only the echoes of those who told you, turn away, choose a different path

she would have spoken to her mother and said; You were right …

all the hate you felt, all the bitterness and disappointment, you were right

I did not amount of anything and whilst love should not be based upon

such things, I can see why I held nothing for you, but a wish to remove

my existence from your timeline and walk alone without reminder

of someone you birthed, who gave you only regrets

if you think I do not understand and only feel anger, you are wrong

when you left, I only hated myself and this is how I have always been

hating myself for existing and the way I am

from the time I can recall, I did not fit or understand

it was as if I had only foolishness as my guide and could not

make the right decisions, I longed then to be loved and to take away

the pain I felt ever present in myself like a badly mixed cake

will not rise.

I dreamed then of finding somewhere to be, a place to belong

where being me would feel right and you didn’t lie when you said

I pretended to be anything but myself, in such savage, unrelenting self-hated

I’m sorry what came from you turned into me.

All this is true and now, when it’s all been stripped down

and I stood unable to see, losing my eyesight, losing my courage and my clamor

to a wasting disease that refuses to leave my side

I begged for loyalty and it came, curling itself

around my useless frame until I hardly knew where

I began and it left, in that savage garden

where roses did not bloom and birds did not sing

I flung the doors of the asylum open and asked

what do I learn from standing on this presipice?

where would you have me go? When I never belong

and my trudge through life thus far has been without sense

it has added to the waste I felt about it all, and a long history

of dreamers who end their dreaming in front of walls

staring at bricks thinking something should surely

transform

no, no we are who we are and though we may run and hide

change ourseles and pretend to be what we desired

the truth cannot be avoided, a price is always exorted

I lost those I loved most

I lost the belief I could be loved

the safety we take for granted as children

my invulnerability struck out and destroyed

I knew my own mortality as clear as day

the rent of owing for our lives, that fragile place

where in an instant, all is lost

I never returned from that shore

I am still there, staring at mellow, sinking sun

and my own diminishment

for now I know my end and the dimming of time

I see in this act, the way of things, finally

how easily we fall and cannot get up

the temper of illness refusing to move on

polluting what we once took for granted

and gone is the boon of youth and health

all we believed fervently in

the promises of others, to never leave our side

THEY LIED

now we are alone in that echoing dark place

count the broken vows, the ruined trust

it falls like toxic rain

reminding me of nothing and everything and emptiness

a weak part of me wishes to reach out and cry

don’t, please don’t

but I know the permanancy of fate

where I have led myself in circles, ever diminishing

it comes as no surprise, in a funny way

for all the hard work and the devotion

I was as blind, as I was unseeing

perhaps from the start, born inside out

where everything I felt too much and not enough

my memory fades along with my sight

the thunder in my heart feels like horses are breaking me beneath their hooves

again and again, with each returning gallop

that pain is the only thing, I know will stay

as it was then, in my little room with teddies and demons

where first I felt the fear and the unknown

creep toward me from the outskirts of safety

and this time, I hear my grandmothers voice

she tries to reassure me, all will be well but

she lied then, as she lies now

and all that stands outside is the darkness of coal and memories

and all who comes for me now are the shadows and enemies

for I have passed over to a wasteland of regret

even my words are turning to dust

even my sense has fled

I expect the last thought I will have

as I sink underground, feeling grit in my mouth

is the memory of your kiss and how

for just, that one moment, I believed

this was not my hollow passage

sometimes what you loved the most

is that which kills you cold

for the reflection of it is like a moon

in a dark place

taunting the prisoner

in her opulescence

oh how I hate to know

the lines and whorls of my life like a palm

stretching their futile trajectories like dying stars

wishing never to have been born

The affiliate of memory

bb

Die is cast

thrown and tumbled

woman is born a girl

girl is born a woman

when she is young, learning to tie bows in sensible brown shoes

spit and shine, tighten pigtail, don’t get your bobby socks dirty

what does she know of her future?

when then, what hour marks, her turning, her awareness?

the tempora fragility of her succulent heart

will she be like her grandmother, a blubbering mess?

able to condone slithered evil in the hands of her husband?

look the other way, for her choices are meager

will she be like her mother, a loyal lover?

seeking a man willing to hold her closer to the sun

melt Icarus, melt, till you can stand the radiance no longer

but what of your child? The one you think is poison and deadly nightshade

what will she be like? In that wicked knowing?

when after-birth is dried and shell chewed to starlight

and she stands tall and unversed like a question mark

when she wants to scream out;

whydontyoufeellikeido?

whydontyouwanttoscreamwheneveryoneelseislaughing?

she’s the burnt slice of toast grown cold on countertop

everyone else is easy in the sun like white wheat and blackcurrant

they shine in their shingled merge

children thread their way through oboe chair-backs like grass snakes

the meadow flowers droop in her sweaty palm

she’d gift her indigo heart if it were taken or sensical

learning many years ago

don’t lend, what you can’t live without

she has enough air to fake it for fifteen minutes, then she’s out

caught in the idling headlamps of smoky cars

no destination

just drive

far

to escape those pitch eyes, drained of regard

the ease with which you are

the ease with which you are

in the loosening of your need

an affiliate of memory

put in glass jars along with sugar

watching you lean now, so evenly

toward tomorrow’s sun

By one who feels

8d5642a56ebcf2178de5ab61d9c73a75

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

marvelous spectacle

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

everything

Grace

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If I am anything at all

I am yours

as the sun seeks the center of day to roar her rays

and sake world in golden waves

as earth breaks apart and mountains form

beneath water like temples surge

as your eyes hold me in their sway

the black of them, the holy place

as life lives beneath my skin

only when you seem to exist

there are times

captured and lost

never truly revealed

beyond our understanding

a chime of circumstance and gods

you are the priest to my implore

a song sung in aching hour

the fingers I let loose my soul

you are my gravity

you with your violet and your indigo

soul

there are places so beautiful my breath is stole

yet nothing, nothing, nothing I have beheld

can take the place of you in my heart

you are the missing part

you are the beginning and the circumference

even as I feel your knife

I cleave that much closer

it is my ritual to seek only

that place I call home within your own

we came from the same place in time

I was born of your need to be eternal

without proof of life

I exist and I perish

upon your word

you, the one I turn

you, the birth of me

you, the missing link

you, the key I wear

around my being

let me or deny me

I seek despite myself just one

who will never diminish nor could be

equalled in my heart

for some of us are old fashioned in devotion

a thorn could not penetrate more

that sea within me carrying your salt

if stained glass were more radiant

if storms could pulse with pinkening lore

if the world could find words for such things

I would still be

bare foot running the long mile separating now and then

then when you were my everything

now in the absence of peace

hither no meaning made itself known

for only in your arms I know

that steady belief and spiritual home

strike me dead the day I quit my faith

you are my goodness, you are

my grace

Turkish delight

alexander-yakovlev-dancers-everythingwithatwist-17I didn’t have time to un-knot my hair or brush it down

it used to hang to my thighs and I had to cut it

when the sickness came and I was green with bile

all those years I held my hair as my calling card

for I had nothing else

so when you see me this way you know

I’m not pretending anything anymore, this is me

this is the girl you once loved

I remember thinking I was old back then

what a laugh

and time is a cordial of horrors and trickery

what we need to know is, it’s all in the eye of the beholder

so if I feel tired and beat up now, remember, I tell myself

in ten years I will rue the day I forgot to dance

I dance now

bare footed with dirty soles

to the memories of

our liquid union

and planes do not fall out of the sky

the day is quiet

despite the tornado in my mind

I would let you in and not let you out

shut inside me like a favorite book

chapter marked by the sinew of my want

clasp you tightly with my muscular need to belong

within your kaleidoscope, a star in your universe

behind these accoutrements and forbids  I burn electric

you never get too old for longing

I want you to take me in your arms

crush me into sugared pieces

eat each one and never spit me out

I want to become you and stay

inside your candied warmth

where amber things are less real

set in time to wait out storm

but you care about them more

as part of your compass, to set your destination

I was born of your desire

I am now without wing

soon I will fade into pieces

and nobody will pick them up to eat

 

 

Because you are not a stranger

Because you are not a stranger

usually I am too reticent, restrained, packaged away

in some hat box with a faded bow

to reach, to linger, to listen

I am a carefully tended garden without entrance

belies her wild interior and the need she has to be untamed

and still you spoke

tearing through the bower, the shrubbery, all my thorns

as natural if we had just been interrupted. having a long conversation

bounding into my life with that long-legged gait reminding me

of those California girls with skin you want to photograph

and ride on horses with until their cheeks get hot

no you are not a stranger

anymore than my French fatalism

is contrary to the opalescent sway of things

we all hang in some form or fashion

from our necks till light betrays our dreaming

and we must enter the sore lot of reality with something of

a bitterness

still tasting on our lips

that Chapstick kiss, faintly cherry

you have

known me before

we have existed before now

a familiar, in intonation and even

that shared day of birth

as if

the light

of the projector

and the quilt of screen

wrote us a history

far from dead ends that labor over hand outs

people who wear you down without

saying a word

with just the fatigue of their eyes

how they cannot see anything of that invisible world

we exist for.

You whisper; “with your eyes closed

you know the sound of my voice and its certainty

its pedantic, bordering on monotonous glee

because it is already familiar”

as something

grown before thought

had elected her bloom to

cover with fragrant reminder

every space of green with flower.

Sometimes even fear meets her match

in destined spots blessed by more than our

mortal hands

I think you have

some power of mind reading

when you turn the page

and set the needle to play

my tune of the winding road

I feel a circle

moving across my body

like a finger tip tracing

without permission and yet

necessary

the outline of my

shadowed self

brought into light.

You usher joy

spreading a scotch blanket

among simple earth and its undulation

though I would turn lobster red

obeying, the sun bleeds behind horizon as if

with the power of your intention

you had dimmed the switch.

Our hands wind together

yet

even if you hadn’t told me

even if I hadn’t known

your hands would have

given it away

as your mouth

a perpetual patient smile

looks to find

a way to speak

without words.

I would ask

what is your intention with my heart

like a concerned father

watching shifting eyes

only you stare back at me

unblinking and open

like a pearl within the care of its shell

it is always, you said, in the eyes

and I reply

how then did you know

before you found me?

when we had not yet

beheld the other?

To which you reply;

I wrote it first

I prayed for you

I dreamed it before

then you were there

holding me in your lonely eyes

like a lighthouse shall

dim only long enough

to light another wick

and surely

guide

sailors

to

shore

for the one who I know in my heart

knows me in hers

because you are not a stranger

and you never were.