He didn’t read it
she tells me.
You’re an idiot.
The ash on her
cigarette has grown
long and she
doesn’t notice
it’s going
to
drop.
Never mind
the ash
or the note.
At thirty-four
I can run
the mile
in ten minutes
and a bit
of loose
change.
a red dress
in the closet
sexy
beautiful
on the hanger
but
unflattering
in the mirror
every time
I try
it on
Well coiffed women roll
their fluid hips through the darkened
room in expensive dresses
where expressionless faces
hold prop drinks
in one hand and clap
the best they can
against plastic cups
with the other.
There are poems
about people who write poems
or publish poems
or how no one publishes
what they should.
There are poems
about sex
or drugs
or doing drugs
while having sex
or fucking
and doing drugs.
One woman’s
entire collection of paintings
is made
of semen
and menstrual blood.
The pasty skinned
man with yellow fingernails
and expensive suit took
black and white photos
of women in bondage
and homeless people,
and politicians walking
and a police man
eating a hot dog.
The hardwood floors
are immaculate
and slick
but the toilet
is the dirtiest
I’ve ever seen.
I hike my skirt
and go
behind the house
in the dark
with the cat
instead.
I haven’t showered.
It’s too warm in here
and I’m
a little sweaty.
There are so many things
to do
today, but your
words
ask me to stay
put.
One more cup of coffee
and three more
poems
and then
I’ll take a shower.
LiteraryMary, journal of the beautiful, unusual and eclectic, will be publishing our first ever print issue in January of 2009, in celebration of the second anniversary of our steadily growing website of the same name. We are very excited about what this year’s journal has to offer. There will be a wide range of Fiction and Poetry featuring many talented authors. There will also be a mix of photography and art work. Our submission period is currently closed but will re-open in June. Look for prices, pre-order information and example links coming soon.
LiteraryMary Writing Forums is not your mother’s workshopping website. Well, many of us are mothers, but we aren’t your mother. We are also, kof, not a ladies auxiliary tea society. So what is LiteraryMary? We are a website dedicated to helping writers and artists of all skill levels grow and sharpen their skills on the long and often discouraging road to publication. We are also here to provide a place for writers and artists to hang out with other like-minded people. Our staff is knowledgeable and approachable. We have forums for poetry, fiction, nonfiction, screenplay and stage, visual art and audio. We also have forums which are hidden from non-members and search engines to protect your first rights. As a member, you are completely in control of your account and work. They can be deleted by you at any time without our permission. You work belongs to you, not us.
Maybe you’re suffering from writer’s block. That’s okay. We also have debate forums, contests, prompts and forums for socializing and fun. Rant, whine, make some friends, waste some time. It’s all good with us. We would love to pull you in for a great big soothing, slightly sweaty, possibly frightening group hug. On that note, keep in mind that if you are easily offended, our forums are perhaps not the place for you. We are a brick house. Mighty mighty, just lettin’ it all hang out.
Still with us? Good. Come inside, and make yourself at home. We’re glad you made it here.
me!
me!
memememememememememmeme
me me me me
me me me me
me me me
me me me
me me me
memeem meemememeem memememeeeeeee
Me.
ME.
me?
The moon never falls in love, or obsesses
on her personal needs, nor does she entertain
her own hopes or dreams, but bears
the prayers of the earthbound with grace
and uncompromising consistency.
She must be lonely, silver starlet
of the witching hour, voyeur of the vulnerable
upon her pedestal, never clutched
to kiss a lover’s lips, never lulled
by the rocking of hip against hip.
Her existence, only to bear witness.
The stars provide some company, winking
and twinkling, but all sparkle and fade.
The planets are pleasant, but distant
and condescending; planets predominant
over moons where they’re concerned.
Oh there’s work to be done, and she does it
well, turning tide and werewolf
at will while inspiring poets
to ode her more often than she could hope
to recall, though a few she knows by heart.
The moon endures a life accursed;
adored, but helpless to love in return.
They had a reel to reel
and a velvet couch,
a deck
with a gazebo
and a hot tub
and a large Dodge van
they’d named
‘The Blue Box’.
We took a trip
to the coast. He played
Michael Jackson
and Christopher Cross
very loud. When we
got to where we were going
he announced:
‘The sunshine arrives
when The Blue Box
Gets There!’ slick
as a coked up disk jockey.
My Mom’s sister wore
flowing night
gowns.
My mom
wore torn underpants
and flannel. At night
I would wake to get a drink
of water and find her
on the couch, cigarette
tip glowing red
hot in the dark.
The reel to reel
fascinated me, but at the time
I thought if I spoke
into the stereo speakers
playing the basketball game
on the radio, my parents
could hear me where
the were, watching
the Portland Trail Blazers.
My mom would visit
her sister while
I lounged on the floor
listening to middle aged
early 80’s music,
watching the tape
grow smaller
on one side
and larger
on the other.
They were the first
family I knew
of who didn’t smoke
in the house.
From the erbacce-press website:
In the Summer of 2008 Richard Wink, the inspirational editor of Gloom Cupboard held a poetry competition, it was free to enter and the submissions flooded in. After months of wading through entries from all over the world the judges voted this poet as the one most worthy of winning first prize; and that first prize was the publication of this startling collection of highly original poems. You owe it to yourself to see why we unanimously chose this poet and you can find out more about Jenifer by clicking here… to purchase her chapbook click on the cover or if you use PayPal add it to your orange shopping cart.
Skidding Through the Mud Incognito
The blood came when I was still young;
about the same time our neighbor
mentioned how well I
was filling out my bathing suit.
My father didn’t notice the blood
or the neighbor’s comments.
My mother talked with me about men-
struation and taught me how to insert
a tampon so I could still climb
the apple tree in the backyard
with my brothers to watch drive-in
movies from the top and ride bikes
with the neighborhood boys,
skidding through the mud incognito.
What this means, is that you can purchase a book of my poems titled ‘Skidding Through the Mud Incognito’ from the erbacce-press website. All you have to do is click on the link up there and follow the directions. It’s better than donating to charity because I need it more. I have four kids, after all. blink. blink.
(Thanks to Father Luke for the image)
Seeing
your ex girlfriends
is like standing
in an airplane
wearing a parachute.
I’m staring at the world
below muttering
I can’t do it.
I can’t do it.
I can’t do it.
jenifer.wills 