The @GhostCityPress Summer Micro – Chapbook series.

Hi all. I have loved the Ghost City press summer Micro – Chapbook series since it begun. Completely free, with the option to donate some coin to the writers, 75 micro-chaps will be sent to your email inbox every day (except weekends) if you sign up at this link here. Starts May 27th and ends September 6th. It’s a great way to be introduced to new writers, and exciting writing.


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Poetry Files. Poem. Wanting. From collection Pulling Words by Nicholas Trandahl.

Wanting
Pulling Words
Nicholas Trandahl
My Review
His new collection Bravery can be pre-ordered here

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Nicholas Trandahl’s Blog

“And I also reach joyfully skyward,
adorned digits raking at a future
that’s rosy with a sublime glow,”

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Want more poetry? Try Here Comes the Sun

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Links Love

More links love, a little bit earlier this week. Because I have quite a lot to share!

The Ink Pantry, six poems by Linda M. Crate

but it’s exhausting always being
on the look out
it’s tiring always having to think
of the worst case scenario—
they insist that there’s
no such thing as rape culture,
but if that were true
i wouldn’t be holding onto my keys
like a weapon
every time i leave my house;
don’t give me your ignorance or your perspective
give me a change so i can believe that
“not all men” are truly accepting
of our culture as is,
and all it’s many flaws

Cabildo Quarterly two poems by Sam Rose

Pussy Magic Heals poems by Rebecca Kokitus

my father used to warn me
about swallowing the pits of fruit
told me a cherry tree would grow in my belly
cherry falls out of me in the shower
hits the tub with a smack
and disappears down the drain

Cheap Pop Lit by Kristin Garth 14 & Kneeling

Guilty by Courtney LeBlanc at Broadkill Review

Tiny Flames Press three poems by Christopher Iacono

Internet Void Small Town Blues and other poems by Kara Goughnour

Three Visual poems at Rose Quartz Journal by Catherine Garbinsky

My Mouth, Mother of Ghosts by Kailey Tedesco at Goats Milk mag

The Awkward Mermaid prose piece Strangled Sun by Wanda Deglane

New Mag Mag poem Bystander by M. Stone

Collective Unrest Melting Wax & Watch the World Burn by Tianna Grosch

A very powerful piece at E’phemere Review by Caroline Grand-Clement

SOMETIMES I’M ALONE AT NIGHT & I AM HIT BY THE IMMENSITY OF THE WORLD & EVERY BEAUTIFUL THING THAT I WILL BE TOO BUSY TO WITNESS & ONE DAY I WILL DRIVE OUT INTO A FIELD & SCREAM & TEAR MY HEART OUT TO THE NIGHT BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT MAKES ME BLEED.

Vessel Press

Writers, whose writing I have fallen in love with. L. N. Holmes

Savannah Slone Ailey O Toole Elisabeth Horan

A Guest Post by Francesca Seopa at The Bipolar Writer Mental Health Blog When Things Don’t Sparkle Like They Used To. Never have I related so much to a piece of writing.

Selcouth Station editor Haley Jenkins In the Spotlight at Fly on the Wall Poetry

You, Me and Depression – A view from the Side – Lines by Esther Harrison at Riggwelter Press

Strix is open for submissions of fiction and poetry during September

Entropy have updated their list of Where to Submit for September, October, November


Did you enjoy any of these links? Have you any links of your own you enjoyed this week? Share in the comments!


Poetry Files. TW. Our Own Soft. Katie Clark. Cinnamon Whiskey.

Our Own Soft
Katie Clark
Cinnamon Whiskey

everyone told me the winter would be bad but
no one said it would be cold all of the time.

it hasn’t been over forty degrees in over five months
and the lake keeps freezing and thawing and i’m less for it.

for now, it’s 10pm and twenty degrees and my friends are all smoking
cigarettes shirtless outside for the second night in a row.

it seems unfair now to live the life i wanted at fourteen,
but here we are.

my 9th grade self keeps drunk texting me things like
“get home safe,” and “can you buy me fireball,” and

i can see her sitting cross-legged in a circle in someone’s
upstairs bedroom in borrowed pajamas with a red cup

and someone is telling them all what it was like to
have sex with a boy named jack or rob and

she’s asking me what it’s like but i’d rather her remember it
this way: small, but significant and eventual.

i don’t want to tell her what’s coming, that the first time
will scar because she won’t say yes, that it won’t be

the last time, that sometimes it’s not fact, it’s
whoever gets there first and says their version louder.

she shouldn’t have to know that sometimes it’s not fair to
have a body, that no one tells you how to know

whether or not you wanted it if you didn’t scream or push,
that sometimes the absence of yes is a dry mouth.

i don’t want her to see this part, but she has to
to know why the time by the water mattered so much

the river salt and that kind mouth. right now,
i don’t think she knows it won’t be jack or rob,

that it will be those long smooth legs draped over
our lap like folded laundry on a Tuesday morning, simple and

happening. this will be the real start.
soon, she’ll know how love will make her unknown to herself

and she will be glad for it, grateful. everything will change
and it will end, and it won’t, and she’ll live.

but for now, i say, “thank you,” and “no,”
kiss her goodnight.


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Four Questions with Justin Karcher (@justin_karcher )

Justin Karcher

photo credit Mark Mulville of The Buffalo News

1. Tell us about you, and your writing (themes, influences etc.)

It’s just after midnight on April 4 and I live in Buffalo, NY, the jewel of the Rust Belt, close confidant and drinking buddy of Niagara Falls, where right now it’s raining & there’s lightning streaming across the sky outside my window & for some reason I’m listening to Enigma – I was thinking of those songs all day today, so I popped up a YouTube playlist of New Age 90s hits & I haven’t looked back. So now as I’m answering this question, I decide I want a cigarette and as I’m heading to the back deck, I see that my living room ceiling is leaking in two spots, but thankfully, buckets are already out, because this is an ongoing problem – it’s funny watching buckets fill up with rain. Anyway, I’m having that cigarette now and it tastes good and I’m shirtless because I like the feeling of raindrops in my chest hair and I realize that I’ve been 11 months sober. Now that the cigarette’s done, I should probably get some sleep. Anyway, long story short, I’m influenced by everything around me. There’s a David Lynch poster on the living room wall and a stack of unproduced plays on the coffee table. My laptop is always open. My heart too.

2. What are some of the ways in which you promote your work, and do you find these add, or eat into, your time writing?

Right now, I’m on a break at the office and it’s 3:10 PM, and I’m thinking of what I can tweet about. Is there any quirky observation I can make? Can I somehow relate it to poetry or projects that I’m working on? It’s currently very windy in Buffalo, a seesaw of sleet and rain, so what metaphor can I use to reflect how I’m feeling about everything at this very moment? These are things that I regularly think about at work and it all helps in the poetic process. While I’m not writing a poem per se, whatever I tweet about for example, will make its way into a poem eventually. Social media is not only a way to promote your work; it also provides a foundation for future work. Just have fun with it, you know? Poetry is flexible, like a well-meaning contortionist, so bend those bones.

3. What projects are you working on at present?

It’s a busy time of year, that’s for sure! In March, EMP released a book I co-wrote with Ben Brindise entitled Those Who Favor Fire, Those Who Pray to Fire. We’re going on a reading tour starting in late April, performing in dusty bookstores and grimy bars in a city near you. I recently co-edited a poetry anthology entitled My Next Heart: New Buffalo Poetry with Noah Falck. That came out in December through BlazeVOX [books]. In April, one of my short plays, When the Skeletons in Our Closets Choke on Candy Corn, is premiering at Alleyway Theatre as a part of Buffalo Quickies. That runs April 19 through May 5. Lastly, I’m the editor of Ghost City Review and we try putting out an issue every month. Whew.

4. What does poetry mean to you?

So I just got a haircut, it’s almost 7 PM, and I’m thinking I should write a poem about haircuts and winters that never end, like what if climate change is a haircut that never grows back? Anyway, I always seem to want to write poems about hair. Poetry means a lot of different things to me and since I process a lot of this on Twitter, I’ll leave us with a tweet:

“I write poems for the girl on the verge of tears getting a 7-Eleven pizza at midnight. I write poems for the old dude out front, chain smoking & telling her that God is good.”



Books

currently on sale

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Ghost City Review

Alleyway Theatre


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