tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.comments2013-04-24T00:09:22.719-04:00APPLE, WORD, KISSKatie Riegelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04172076209559447620noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-83098406573672656032013-04-24T00:09:22.719-04:002013-04-24T00:09:22.719-04:00Thanks, both of you, for understanding. And chocol...Thanks, both of you, for understanding. And chocolate is an absolute good. :)Katie Riegelhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04172076209559447620noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-83351794973316286662013-04-23T18:47:13.354-04:002013-04-23T18:47:13.354-04:00Oh, I can relate. i just received just that kind o...Oh, I can relate. i just received just that kind of news. I keep thinking I will get used to it, but alas. My solution? Well, I have this really good chocolate . . . Nin Andrewshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12643167108589844026noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-64835315966363858362013-04-23T12:54:36.559-04:002013-04-23T12:54:36.559-04:00I just shared my comment with the whole world inst...I just shared my comment with the whole world instead of posting it here. So everyone will see that I think you are beautiful and too hard on yourself!dkistnerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14559302217990862596noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-48850840511907765762013-04-21T23:18:00.997-04:002013-04-21T23:18:00.997-04:00Everything Gold
Coral Nardandrea
He lay down in a...Everything Gold<br />Coral Nardandrea<br /><br />He lay down in a hollow.<br />His skin was pale under clothes.<br />Is he eating silver? <br />Is he gold and white?<br />Inside the shade, he is <br />not hollow, but swollen,<br />holding a spoonful of gold.<br />The gold changed, becoming white and distant.<br />Don’t you ever get lonely?<br /><br />She looked for him there,<br />unmade from herself, swoop of inked line.<br />His listener nods the slow and long motion,<br />though his eyes suddenly seem erased.<br />How is it she’s never noticed before?<br />Does he feel he is always being born?<br />Someone to remember him:<br />her face, half intent, human.<br /><br />But like her,<br />this was a divisionary lie.<br />No wonder his silence<br />barely contains him.<br />It sometimes seems <br />she’s just briefly resting, reeled out <br />to nap as one reels out laundry.<br />You shouldn’t stare at her, not while he’s standing there.<br />He lifts her, shoulders straining back,<br /><br />wielding a paint brush.<br />Artificial becomes artful.<br />But that’s not a memory.<br />These aren’t that kind.<br /><br />A cold morning.<br />There was paper stuffed <br />in the window frames. <br />It takes all afternoon<br />to see it clearly--the dark back,<br />the blue that dead bones should be.<br />The mirror reflects the small spinning, <br />everything gold. The part <br />that seemed real--<br />Is it not visible?<br />Gold, throated bodies <br />playing airplane.<br />They hung from the rafters <br />by ribbon.<br />Coral Nardandreahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05851629735578946967noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-77037873195969040302013-04-20T22:19:08.357-04:002013-04-20T22:19:08.357-04:00Don't You Ever Get Lonely? By Donna Walker
A ...Don't You Ever Get Lonely? By Donna Walker<br /><br />A Cento After Rosalynde Vas Dias’ Only Blue Body<br /><br /><br />Oh!<br />You used to be<br />a small, unbearable itching.<br />White and purple as a frozen puddle.<br /><br />What is this<br />in the photograph?<br />Silver paths of frozen boot prints,<br />mercury white?<br /><br />The light is a kind of phosphorescent milk…<br />yourself, very small,<br />dreaming of being<br />a reflection.<br /><br />At night I’d try to feel<br />saffron. A gentle hand.<br />Goodbye, Goodbye.<br />The gold changed, becoming white and distant.<br /><br />Can I say it is a memory?<br />Is he eating silver? Is he marching?<br />Speeding away from the source—<br />combing the earth.<br /><br />No wonder his silence.<br />As if he lived within a mirror,<br />his back to me<br />for the first time.<br /><br /><br />Donna Walkerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14246704321761894816noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-26547031476059244782013-04-18T13:32:23.415-04:002013-04-18T13:32:23.415-04:00Rán Gone Fishing
Chlöe Sweetman
The sky turns so...Rán Gone Fishing <br />Chlöe Sweetman<br /><br />The sky turns soapy, the air bends <br />down, inert in that desert <br />under the dark water. Silence, <br />as if he lived <br />within a mirror, temporal <br />silver bubbles caught here and there. <br /><br />He is so still, dark <br />purple, black purple,<br />a parcel of flesh, porous <br />and also organic. His cracked <br />ribs are just visible, his knuckles <br />mercury white. <br /><br />Gold, his gift of penance. <br /><br />At his growing softness <br />she lifts him from his place. Soon <br />he will split. She holds him <br />up to her lips – a face. Human. <br />Her blue eyes turn <br />blue, the blue that dead <br />bones should be. <br /><br />Chloehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09227638954935789484noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-46374229869411912602013-04-18T01:19:26.249-04:002013-04-18T01:19:26.249-04:00Longing By Yelena Sanchez
A Cento After Rosaly...Longing By Yelena Sanchez <br /><br />A Cento After Rosalynde Vas Dias’ Only Blue Body<br /><br /><br />In the mirror, I am merely a woman, with breasts, the too-large nose, mouth, eyes. There seemed little choice. <br /><br />I used to be captain of my own ship. I stared at it forever. Long ago, he fell into the brown rot of the forest.<br /><br />In my dreams, a man asking, Don’t you ever get lonely? Maybe I am. <br /><br />Alone and lonely in my attic room, a light on all night will draw him. But standing in the dark, he is a plum. <br /><br />His good aroma, his growing softness. His skin barely contains him. Maybe I am a woman in love, <br /><br />or maybe I am delirious. Inside, I would die for that, if I touched him, where sun touched<br /><br />lines that curved. He was silence, a book closed upon itself. Illusion.<br /><br />Can I say it is a memory? We got along because it was fiction. He is mine because I hide him, <br /><br />folded like a paper fan largely in my dreams, sad when one is longing.<br /><br />*Line breaks were altered by publication, sorry :( <br /><br />Y.A.Shttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15279464901316683482noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-56241604910912873172013-04-17T17:58:09.819-04:002013-04-17T17:58:09.819-04:00Rebellion by Evan Goetz
(Cento created from poems ...Rebellion by Evan Goetz<br />(Cento created from poems in Rosalynde Vas Dias’ Only Blue Body)<br /><br />The moon tonight is so white,<br />holding a spoonful<br />of gold he never gave<br />to me, the fire small<br />in his pupils.<br />I’ve always wanted<br />dark eyes without light.<br />I would die <br />for that.<br /><br />In that church<br />my disguise is full<br />of holes.<br />Wait ‘til it breaks.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Drunken noises<br />of approval follow.<br />Artificial becomes artful.<br />Sirgoetzalothttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17055096267409761572noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-38277474477208230622013-04-17T17:47:18.157-04:002013-04-17T17:47:18.157-04:00Gone Sailing Without Me- A Cento Compiled from Ros...Gone Sailing Without Me- A Cento Compiled from Rosalynde Vas Dias’ “Only Blue Body”<br /> Ben Carter<br /><br />A book closed upon itself<br />in the snow woods.<br />Water, freezing, broke the mountain upward.<br />Below that, a mile or more, green pastures.<br />The cold flags under your feet<br />cold glass against your cold fingers<br />spool dizzy and loosing substance<br />the snow piled up to either side of silver paths of frozen boot prints<br /><br />the blue bug light<br />was hit by a car<br /><br />The beetle’s left elystron snapped off cleanly and fit the tip of my tongue like the husk of a popcorn kernel<br />At the puncture itself, no pain:<br />juice and veined golden flesh<br />The oriole pecking the flesh, keeping one eye fastened to you<br />nodding in recognition<br />little wren, all anthropomorphic;<br />a furnace, orange, pulsing like a living carnelian<br /><br />Goodbye, Goodbye, my voice protesting, the voice mute, thinking<br />the last wooden cup I made is right now drying on the dish rack <br /><br />A spring night, already hot<br />at the center of each nucleus, pollen gold<br /><br />When I was born, the small spinning everything was gold.<br />My eyes are huge—liquid and empty of pupils.<br />step up into the white noise<br />My disguise is full of holes<br /><br /><br />The color of an anchor doesn’t matter<br />The ship is gone sailing on without me<br />running over water, skidding—there’s an oil skim—purple-green weeps out and it’s down<br />a barrier.<br />The sheet laid down over wreckage.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09279215589180360190noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-88885866134147469732013-04-17T17:38:44.806-04:002013-04-17T17:38:44.806-04:00Transformation Explained – Cento Compiled from Ros...Transformation Explained – Cento Compiled from Rosalynde Vas Dias’ “Only Blue Body”<br /><br />You’d never survive out there<br />with no visible alteration. <br /><br />Walking through the black trees <br />holding a spoonful of gold <br />you mean no harm,<br />you offer only sweetness. <br /><br />Yourself, very small,<br />hands folded, eyes far-off looking<br /><br />idly gazing out at the crisp<br />skeletons of living or once-<br />living material. <br />You understood by seeing. <br /><br />Some died. Then many.<br />The Shadow recalling the Source. <br /><br />Imagine holding a beautiful object <br />and see the needles, individual,<br />on the evergreens, and marks on the rocks,<br />marks that show where they cleaved <br /><br />in a panic. Back in the body<br />by accident in a panic.<br />Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15762933428889290511noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-7151470851050854312013-04-10T09:45:34.737-04:002013-04-10T09:45:34.737-04:00Lovely poem, Anne. Thanks for sharing it.Lovely poem, Anne. Thanks for sharing it.Katie Riegelhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04172076209559447620noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-13222665274391091182013-04-10T06:29:44.404-04:002013-04-10T06:29:44.404-04:00I clicked on the link to your blog from Jeff Newbe...I clicked on the link to your blog from Jeff Newberry's Facebook page this morning. I like your blog very much! On your post on unfairness, I am sharing a poem I wrote on the subject a few years ago:<br /><br />Musical Chairs<br /><br /><br />Musical Chairs:<br />the first unfairness of the world,<br />the first game of unfairness.<br />Not a chair for everyone,<br />not a beautiful body or face<br />for everyone,<br />not a quick brain<br />for everyone,<br />not a finger for the keys,<br />a mouth for the reed,<br />an eye for the form,<br />a hand for the brush.<br /><br /><br />Best wishes from Anne<br /><br /><br />Anne Higginshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13583292991932748552noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-3853699700774062522013-03-26T14:22:29.532-04:002013-03-26T14:22:29.532-04:00"I dream her asking questions of the air, and..."I dream her asking questions of the air, and the air answering."<br />Beautiful, beautiful. <br />Tears, but familiar ones, to share. Thank you. Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-45001655065744836162013-02-21T20:38:28.968-05:002013-02-21T20:38:28.968-05:00Yeah. It's just so smart and unflinching. You&...Yeah. It's just so smart and unflinching. You'll love it.Katie Riegelhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04172076209559447620noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-57677413568165657342013-02-21T20:28:10.932-05:002013-02-21T20:28:10.932-05:00I'm glad you wrote about this. The author had ...I'm glad you wrote about this. The author had a great interview on NPR awhile ago that made me want to read the book, but then life happened and I forgot all about it. Your post reminded me that I want to read it. And I'm glad it lived up to your expectations.Anonymoushttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05693010738744773374noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-72477414853800346402013-02-04T10:37:05.288-05:002013-02-04T10:37:05.288-05:00Hey, Katie, thanks for the reminder. I need to sto...Hey, Katie, thanks for the reminder. I need to stop watching Downton Abbey and carve out time in the evening for the ritual of a good read. Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-21497052590824532542013-01-18T22:49:54.348-05:002013-01-18T22:49:54.348-05:00I remember having this conversation with you when ...I remember having this conversation with you when I was in the beginnings of switching my major to creative writing. I haven't been happier since.Jackhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11669669902730995157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-59948928352917173522013-01-18T21:43:29.954-05:002013-01-18T21:43:29.954-05:00This is lovely. I just met with all of my student...This is lovely. I just met with all of my students this week for the first time, and their energy buoys me up through all of the difficulties that seem endemic in academia.Kathryn A. Kysarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09807950583510866898noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-46351124044208972002013-01-09T14:30:33.517-05:002013-01-09T14:30:33.517-05:00The typography's gorgeous, if I do say so myse...The typography's gorgeous, if I do say so myself! ;) MHWdkistnerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14559302217990862596noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-85495577558347377292013-01-09T13:09:16.058-05:002013-01-09T13:09:16.058-05:00Thanks, Laura! You're the best.Thanks, Laura! You're the best.Katie Riegelhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04172076209559447620noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-89713368563196193852013-01-09T11:40:46.744-05:002013-01-09T11:40:46.744-05:00Delicious (http://www.delicious.com) will scrape y...Delicious (http://www.delicious.com) will scrape your social media accounts and save links that you post. I've had it set up for awhile. You connect your social media accounts through Profile > Settings > Sources.Laura B.https://www.blogger.com/profile/15816705693879965702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6728533616176797884.post-19806244630161880972013-01-05T13:33:39.633-05:002013-01-05T13:33:39.633-05:00I love this poem. The Hummingbird Review does not ...I love this poem. The Hummingbird Review does not hold submissions hostage to our issue copyright, especially for its first editor. Thanks for the credit line. Charlie Redner, publisher, The Hummingbird Review.redcharliehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09477715252002321846noreply@blogger.com