POIESIS NEWSLETTER
2021–10–24
JD Jots
by J.D. Harms
Friends, writers, and all the Muses. I hope this Poeisis newsletter finds you well, embracing all the challenges October poses with grace and fortitude. First, some business, then to the celebration…I just want to put out a little reminder to appreciate the skill and passion of the wonderful people that I’ve brought together to grow this publication. We don’t get a red cent extra for doing this, running this publication; and it really does take an incredible amount of time and energy to do this.
One of our members was not even able to join the MPP, and she was a non-stop powerhouse of energy and devotion to our concept. We all, but most definitely in her case, need to be respected for the energy we put here. We are very dedicated to supporting you, our contributors with care and respect. Again, we take a lot of time out of our days. Please respect the fact that we want to see you soar!
In sad news, long-time devoted, incredible person and editor for Scrittura, Jessica Lee McMillan, my dear friend, has determined it’s best for her to devote her energy and time to her life away from Medium. She’s added a little statement below.
As some may already be aware, I am stepping down from my role at Scrittura. I am working on some exciting life changes and have also been engaged in local literary communities, effectively reducing my time on Medium.
I cherish all the conversations we have had about writing and the delightful private notes. But demands change and the time I was able to carve out then is precarious now. It is the right thing to do in fairness to our fine publication given my divided time and energy. I must put some of that back into career, writing, family and daydreaming.
I could have tried to hold on forever with all the adoration I have for the team and our dedicated writers. That is why I will relish writing alongside you and I will remain within arm’s reach. I love Medium and am sticking around, but more quietly so. Let’s keep the conversation going about meaningful writing and support each other in this very special community.
Much love,
Jessica
I am sorry we did this a month late, but, still. We miss her, still love her, and the powerful presence she was here, and all of us are so very grateful, Jessica, for all you’ve done for us. Burn on so fucking bright, my friend!
Viraji Ogodapola also decided it was time to move on. We wish her all the best, and I know you’ll all join with me in thanking her for the incredible energy and light she brought to this publication.
As always, Zay Pareltheon, Melissa Coffey, and I are thrilled to continue to receive and publish your wonderful words. Speaking of, take a look at some stellar pieces that deserve more of your love!
Till the next month, my friends! Keep reading, writing, and rocking on!!
Wonderful Words
Our Wonderful Words selections span September and October this month, making them more special than special — these are the best! And we have included some of the special-best lines from some prose works! Oh, changes are afoot.
From JD — J.D. Harms
Wild Imprints by Melissa Coffey
https://medium.com/scrittura/wild-imprints-a-prose-poem-46917f74146f
Can I fill my tyres with helium — drifting upwards like a balloon to meet the moon — leaning into the curve of its amber aura — coasting the boundary between dark and light. Are these imaginings symptoms of lunacy — and as soon as I question the impossible — I fall — back to earth like Icarus, back into my body
Josh by Mimi Bordeaux
https://medium.com/scrittura/jandy-9e4267363bf4
‘He was taken out on a stretcher’. I had to look in your room to get the first glimpse of your being gone. I grabbed your notes food and everything else. I held onto it tightly. I couldn’t believe any of it and tears flowed down fogging my eyes as I drove nearly crashing into a fence. I rang your friends. All women. The three of us had all been there at some point. At the funeral we arranged to meet. It was nice. I suppose.
Mystic At Vulcan’s Mirror (I am here) by Barry Dawson Jr. IV
https://medium.com/scrittura/mystic-at-vulcans-mirror-i-am-here-85770df0e9fc
I’ve tucked so many midnight lamentations away that I fear I’m more shadow than flesh; my later may come too late to matter. But if I’m ever encouraged to wield that alternate mirror, I doubt that I’ll erupt after seeing the unknowable. I’m far more likely to implode, dissolving into a sweaty puddle.
From Melissa — Melissa Coffey
The Hill Before Inferno by Rowen Veratome
https://medium.com/scrittura/the-hill-before-inferno-b6b27008c293
By that tree, three crows played.
Children, maybe. A woman
in veil touched every
leaf. Every leaf, I
felt on my palm
Empty.I paused my weary body to relax,¹
but knew I would have to go
down again. Down, through
the fiery streets of
Recollection.
The Imprint by j.calabrese
https://medium.com/scrittura/the-imprint-160574cb7703
long summers hot in wild strawberries gave such pleasure after a berry-bush- beating. don’t get caught pilfering them cucumbers and fresh cherry tomatoes — who let the Devil-children out — muttering ol’ Yankee could see through blackbird’s eyes — swore she was one. we’d hidden in the upper barn, but she came knowingly anyway; gave us chores to repent — better than kneeling.
The Harbor of Your Voice by Michelle Berry Lane
https://medium.com/scrittura/the-harbor-of-your-voice-b14e3efa02ff
Family fracture, the sound of your voice tacked away slowly, sporadically came through phone lines, still offered some ballast — I grew anyway, far away and drifting in your absence, drawing reserves inward, I learned to navigate, to fold your voice into a compact treasure of maps in my gut: feeds my heart — I hoist and rudder to you a few times a year, but feel your absence grow as I grow — you, settled into new home and family.
From Zay — Zay Pareltheon
A Psychotic Run by Theodore McDowell
https://medium.com/scrittura/a-psychotic-run-f19d4701b06d
Frostbit
beat
bullies me
down Sweet Auburn Street,
subway vents
the only heat.
Faulkner at the PO by Lori Lamothe
https://medium.com/scrittura/faulkner-at-the-p-o-13017e3c867
The mausoleum of all desire ticks
unnoticed by even the bills as the dust
goes on breathing late amber
and in a blooming beyond reality, a girl
comes home smelling of trees in the rain.
Why I Am Not a Poet — Part Three by Alan Asnen
https://medium.com/scrittura/why-i-am-not-a-poet-part-three-2cfd7f1b05b1
We hear so much discussion of “empathy” from writers today. Yet what they produce screams “pity me” instead. The work of a poet, a good poem, at least, strives towards something Universal, something that creates compassion which can be felt by multitudes across time and space.
Interview with a Poet — Rhonda Marrone
https://medium.com/scrittura/interview-with-a-poet-rhonda-marrone-610515a70b06
Ah, these interviews are perhaps one of the best things about being connected to Medium. It seems that Medium changes — a lot — a great deal — every day; but what doesn’t change is the insight and dedication of its writers. Rhonda Marrone exemplifies what it means to be a writer on Medium, — adjusting but still writing, always.
She writes about what poetry means —
For me poetry is the language that comes from the heart, the language that connects the inanimate to the living. Poetry is the words that make the rocks come alive, the trees speak, the flowers’ colors live. Poetry is in all living creatures, it is in all things on Earth, the poet has the ability to reach in and pull it out.
And she writes about the source of the poetic — and that source for her is not the daily grind. Hooray… there’s something more to living than the daily grind.
When I write poetry, my source of motivation is to connect to the divine, that which is more powerful than myself, that which is more beautiful than words can describe.
And with Rhonda, there is hope — hope for the future when diligence and creativity combine to create a success. Really, read the interview and realize that you are not alone. It’s great to share other people’s insights.
Keep writing, keep publishing, keep submitting to publications. I started 5 years ago. I was scared, petrified, so nervous I couldn’t breathe. My first piece got 5 views, I believe, and I was ecstatic!
