SUBMISSION POLICY
Poetry (any form or style) and Micro or Flash Fictions wanted for an anthology on SMOKE. Not just the black clouds rising from the five-alarm fire next door, or the billowing plumes of smoke warning us of a forest fire, or the emissions from factory smoke stacks, apartment house incinerators, and crematoriums, smoke rings rise from cigarettes, smoke pours out of headshops, pipe shops & cigar stores--see that purple haze rising over the fields of poppies and marijuana we just planted--we've used it to communicate via smoke signals and skywriting, to cover our tracks and disappear with and without mirrors, combat the enemy on and off the battlefield, kill bugs, flavor food, cure illness, declare peace treaties, and fragrance our homes. Got the idea? Release it onto the page.
Guidelines: Submit up to three poems/micro fictions or two flash fictions at a time with a fascinating bio of 35 words or less, not just limited to publication credits, copy/pasted in the body of an e-mail (no attachments, please) to roxy533 at yahoo dot com & violetwrites at nyc dot rr dot com. We will also entertain up to six one-liners or 2 short stand up routines at time. Previously published work is OK as long as authors have retained the copyright, which will be returned to them after publication. Simultaneous submissions are encouraged. If your work is accepted elsewhere, and you still have obtained rights to republish, just let us know where and we'll be happy to acknowledge the other publication.
If you do not receive a response from us within a month of your submission considered it rejected and feel free to submit again. Due to the volume of submissions we cannot respond to each and every individual submission. Selection for the on-line edition are made on a ongoing basis as we receive your submissions. However, final selections for the print edition will made after the October 31st deadline. (In otherwords not everything that made the cut for the online edition will appear in print.) Please do not query. When in doubt, send the submission to roxy533 at yahoo dot com & violetwrites at nyc dot rr dot com.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Ain't that just like Scarlett O?
Ain't that just like Scarlett O?
I rise from within
the miasma of me,
and the need for smokes
supersedes the ever burn
to strategize about him.
I splash my face,
grab things new and borrowed,
inspect the violet blur
under my eyes,
dab makeup,
change my mind,
take my mother's shades,
(she doesn't need them,
she hides from the sun
since my dad passed away,
she chases shadows and Papa Chu).
I walk in black and white,
full maned dissident child,
through last night's
Bardot sun dried sheets,
and stand in line,
shifting weight
from leg to leg
ponder on him,
he is no knight
in shining armor,
I'm no princess,
I'm a better rider,
and my horse
is black as the thoughts
of the woman rolling cigars
on her sex rounded thighs.
From the back of the store,
she throws dark glances
sharp as lances,
that speak of unbridled passion
in the belly of a shipwrecked cruiser,
grounded and rusted for years,
and I get the stench,
the rot of my father's
countless affairs.
I lift a cold beer,
wryly toast the sharp eyed wench,
she smiles,
and her smile is gapped
by close encounters with
a grim likeness of love,
and I am unhinged,
bruised by loss
and doorways slammed shut.
Cause this man
can take me or leave me,
often he leaves me,
at times he wants me urgently,
he is intrigued and afraid
of my intense in his face
barefoot debates,
and the way I forget words,
kiss him to distraction,
then run wild
when he doesn't get me,
when he doesn't steady me.
I must get over
his love branding,
he sears me and
I double over in anguish,
I must chase him
to exhaustion,
I have to have him.
I get on with morning,
Tantalus and his torments
are for late nights,
and I wear chase-me jeans,
and I pack smokes,
and swig beer labeled
Victoria all the way home.
Ain't that just like Scarlett O?
by Anna Donovan
Anna Donovan, a Nicaraguan in Texas is a survivor of the Sandinista revolution and has made a life for herself in the US. Donovan has always loved words and languages. AD says, "Writing is the way I align words with my inner compass."
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