POIESIS Newsletter
2021–12–21
J.D.’s Jots
Well, December was certainly a much quieter, though still decent, month. Considering the stats that Melissa Coffey posted in the last curations article, curations are still getting better. Reading seemed to drop off a bit…
— but, of course, there might be that constant background hum (or is that a fucking roar…?) of the pandemic. I am sure, though, that by this point there are more gatherings coming up and parties and work functions than there have been in the past few years.
My province has just gone to increased restrictions again…well, I confess, I’ve begun to slip into a seriously introverted state. Having mostly had myself, my amour, and Medium as the bulk of my social life, the idea of being in larger groups and not physically-distanced holds little appeal to me.
Even triple-shotted, as I am.
Which is just as well when one likes to write, since that’s mostly a solo activity. (Hmm. Where are you going here, JD? Kinda seems like you’re just writing for the sake of saying something…)
Anyway, hopefully you’ll all find some way to enjoy Dies Natalis Solis Invicti, and, of course, the Solstice. Don’t forget about Scrittura if you find yourself needing some reading time. Be safe, and we’ll catch y’all in 2022!
Best, J.D. Harms
Wonderful Words
J.D. Harms Picks
Losing Mac Miller by emma poe
2 AM whispers from the walls and
pulls me back to the day you ran over our dog
memories rapidly flood through me as I feel
the excess of saliva in my mouth and attempt to
ignore the island that has grown between us
She Said by Annine Massaro
If you don’t trust me, then I will disappear…disappe a r… app e a r…ear — Oxymoronic loaf — be her now — with me/in me/as me
Seeing me has never been enough, though — to satisfy my desires —
Creep Crack Crock by Lennie Varvarides
The line never really pulls away from the horizon — it is constant, as constant as flesh rolled into place by thought or frame. It sits, waiting for the cracks to abstract the landscape. Subtract some small cell or kill it off with poison — packaged as care, packaged as a solution to xeroderma.
Melissa Coffey Picks
The Mythology of Memory by Eleanore Christine:
I once fell into eyes as deep as yours and nearly drowned. Eyes that promised me an eternity, everything. But venom didn’t care for declarations, put a stop to sentiment and left me with twin pinpricks — a fanged constellation — and darkness. Now I cannot recall his face, except for those impossible eyes …
https://medium.com/scrittura/the-mythology-of-memory-d8cd2d36e28
The Venezuelan by Jeff Langley:
Listen for it Manny — it is so subtly chaotic — so very cunningly embryonic — all of it, in such high fidelity — so symbolic — so hyperbolic — that persistent humming — a second coming — the deep tone rumbling …
I am the Lightning, Laughing by Danielle Loewen:
A wild, wayward witch holding up the sky — trembling inside the tempest — not yet five feet tall, but already I am the tumult across the horizon — I am the call, I am the answer — the arrow in flight to pierce the envious heart — the ruffian raven ready to rend & claw
https://medium.com/scrittura/i-am-the-lightning-laughing-2ec366eb49db
Zay Pareltheon Picks
Just Chaos, Dear by Joe Luca
“How do you want your eggs, dear?”
Thrown at me, one at a time. I thought, but she didn’t hear it.
Over easy. Like my life. Like the winds whipping through the canyons.
Like Jesus laying hands on the beggar and bringing him back to life.
The Hate Blanket by Sydney Duke Richey
She jerks the blanket above her head and the sting of hot tears flow, seeping through slits of swollen eyelids, soaking the blanket. It grows heavy.
Weighted satisfaction.
Confrontation by Jenine Bsharah Baines
Do I pluck destiny,
turn its shiny promise in my hands –
bruises, beauty marks –
then take a bite,many bites, till there is no fruit left for Adam?
https://medium.com/scrittura/confrontation-d5fefa942730
Interview with a Poet — Jeff Langley
by Zay Pareltheon
Our “Interview with a Poet” series always seems to uncover great things. Jeff Langley hails from an area near Halifax, Nova Scotia, and like so many poets here has another life. But I think poetry is his calling. His work is always insightful, always provocative.
He defines poetry elegantly.
Poetry is a lot of things. For me it’s kind of a place between the conscious and the subconscious, where things on the surface tweak one’s curiosity of what’s hidden below.
And he finds motivation in many ways; like many poets, inspiration comes from the joy and trials of daily life — and Scrittura.
Motivation comes from many sources — could be a song I’ve listened to, a prompt (many ‘props to Scrittura for this), an interview on the radio or current events I’ve read about.
And, for Jeff, success comes in rhythm and transference. Think about that — getting an idea down and finding the best way to share it. That’s poetry, yes.
Near the completion stage, reading the piece aloud and feeling that I have captured the transference and rhythm of my thoughts. That in and of itself can be quite satisfying. The fact that once a piece is published, folks may take the time to read it and maybe highlight or comment on it, that’s a whole other level of satisfaction and success right there.
Read more of Jeff’s work here.
https://medium.com/scrittura/ravenous-glare-of-the-midnight-crow-fbd8b19b3a6c
https://medium.com/scrittura/over-thunk-80f57d306467
