For decades, August has been my strongest “urge to poetry” month. Something about the light, the sounds, the smells–all is so REVVED UP. Poets, agree?
I used to be in vibrant online writing communities, and every August we would have a poetry challenge. We would write a poem a day, no editing allowed, just to “rev” up our creativity.
It was glorious.
We (I!) wrote a lot of bad poetry, but I am still finding some snippets of good poetry on old flash drives and in old posts.
Hmm…perhaps it is time to reinstate an AUGUST POETRY CHALLENGE?
It couldn’t be here, on a public blog, I fear, for that would preclude subsequent publication. Perhaps back on good old Facebook, with a private account only friends can access.
There’s an idea!
Readers, writers, what do you think?
Thanks for reading.
Alt Minds Literary Magazine is looking for “…fiction and non-fiction/memoir (1,000 to 3,000) of any genre and poetry (no more than 40 lines) that is related to mental health, in theme, subject matter, characterization, whatever “mental health” means to you.” Unlike many new journals, this is a paying journal with a very narrow audience: writing with themes related to mental health.
Furtheremore, the editor and founder is brave to state she wished to create “…a literary magazine that focuses exclusively on content about mental health and all the idiosyncrasies that come along in living with mental illness.” That’s brave.
I’ve submitted two poems there; one is about a competency hearing and one is about drives–literal and metaphorical.
I’m still very pleased and surprised to find so many literary journals–seems to be something for everyone.
Thanks for reading!
Lucky (I hope) thirteen active submissions of poetry out right now… wait, one is a short nonfiction piece entirely written in dialogue. We shall see! The “declined” or rejections outnumber thirteen–but I am enjoying finding new literary magazines and I am editing, revising, and writing poetry. EXCEPT I cannot write about those poor boys trapped in the caves in Thailand. I usually have no problem writing to a prompt, but these boys, these trapped boys…
I mean those boys are mainly in the dark…and they are BOYS. There is ONE adult with them. I followed the lives and stories of the 33 Chilean miners, big strong men, trained men…and I know how very rough they had after the rescue. The miners were down below much longer… but these are boys…and it could take months. Sigh…
If I were honest, I would say I can barely breathe thinking about those boys.
Here are links to some current articles:
Thailand Cave Rescue Options.
I can barely breathe when I think of all those who are trapped, scared, in the dark–literally or emotionally.
I need to open the window now, despite the stifling heat.
There is a poem there about the need to open windows even in the heat. Even in the bitterly cold. (Oh, I’ve had issues doing that.)
Not too long ago, my husband and I were in a resort with huge windows, but they did not open. I wanted to stay somewhere else, somewhere the windows opened.
But that’s another story or other stories.
Thanks for reading!
This photo was the prompt. And this is one of the many versions of the poem I wrote, most lost. I found this on an old document from 1999. Oh my, so many of those abstract concepts. But fun to find. Hmm… maybe another rewrite is in order.
I wonder what the news was of the day that convinced me the cold ones rule? I know it’s sure something I still fee.
Oh, so cold
the stranger is everywhere
the soul? sniveling little pest
we’ve sent away.
Trust us, you can
not trust us
Can’t read us, can you?
We see through you
but we are divine;
The stranger is everywhere,
existential nausea chokes.
It’s just that simpering little pest,
that whiner, that soul.
(c) L. Lee 2000
I kept this photo for nearly 18 years. We produced some interesting (erm!) writing from this photo prompt. I know a few friends and I are clownaphobic, and this really spoke to us. Wish I could find the writing. I am sure it was BIZARRE.
Try, just try not to think of this photo as the day goes on…the red hands, the red throat… Sinister and humorous at the same time.
From the old MSN writing groups, long closed…
More than once we had writing prompts based on photos or images. One was some type of floating supernatural ball. Wish I could find the image! This one isn’t it…but will do. From that, I wrote many versions of this poem:
COLD ONES RULE
Earthbound no more
our little kingdoms
domed over, micro-sized
feel your humanity
hang on to your souls
those skittish, slippery
links to warmth
the cold ones rule
(c) L. Lee 2000