Friday, April 20, 2012

Ye'ole Poetry Challenge Is Over, Almost

This is Sunday, Day 7- you should be ready to put down your pens and pencils, and share your finished, or unfinished work for our challenge.

Not only did we (editors) write poetry, but a few of us wrote more than one. Not bragging (yes, E is), but having an office quiet from distraction; if you don't count the birds chirping their little beaks off each day, and a random car going by because our windows stayed open all day...we accomplished a lot!

We hope you did as well.

The challenge was- turn off your computers, televisions (iPods are allowed), and any other electronic devises, and pull our your pencils, pen, and paper and begin drafting a poem for National Poetry Month. Does that mean we have to write in the dark? No, only by candlelight. We wanted to find out what it would be like centuries ago, when they had no electronics and wrote those long long epic poems we all loved reading in college.

We figure a few cheated and who will know but least your took time to draft and craft words into lines, and then will share them (and about us!) on your personal and professional blog sites, or on here in the comment section. Make sure you leave everyone a link to your sites, so we can find you!

If you had not finished your pieces, then you had until Sunday evening to post them on your sites, come back here and link them, or post them in our comments section. This post will remain up until the end of the month. Anytime will work, because the whole month of April is National Poetry Month. Just share your work!

Thanks for joining in with us, and any completed poems can and will be if you email us a note considered for our yearly anthology slated to come out in October.

Please check out our submission page if you are interested in being in the magazine. We are not just about many more creatures lurk in the dark spaces of our minds and want a place to premiere.

Thank you,

Editorial Team


  1. Here is mine!

    Hungry Walls and Horde(rs)

    Things lay (un)about, collecting
    dust and insect bodies are dragged away
    invaders resembling modest immigrants who
    once arrived through cold ocean passage ways
    spiders growing (un)larger than ever
    evolving as paper disintegrates
    falling to the concrete floor cracks

    behind (un)attended broken garage doors
    all along deserted blocks and blocks- exposed
    full of boxes and cars and bikes and skiies
    as wind sends anything (un)attached or standing
    over to its side

    the last family down on the right
    house number four eighty seven
    was the last to leave
    well, turn and (un)die
    after the (un)horde came through
    taking every child, babies first
    sister brother grandmother and fathers
    what was left but
    the couple fought it out for six more months

    going from house to house
    collecting food and water and memorabilia
    meaningless (art)ifacts
    worthless to mindless monsters outside

    you might see the missus roaming their yard
    calling out her broods names
    in birth order, mothers remember lists
    on many occasions undead passed her up
    as her blank stare played with dirty toys along a fence
    standing motionless in filthy clothes with no shoes on
    treasures piled up about what was once a home

    a husband took that frail body down in (un)brain lust
    rendering its hunger to the elements
    thin eyelids grasp(ed) sunset
    one last forgotten item
    to throw on the heap of (un)nothingness.

    Managing Editor
    Elizabeth Akin Stelling
    Creative TMI

  2. Blood Orange

    What greed allows

    you to hide the blood

    orange beneath the folds

    of your skirt? Its dribble, crimson,

    succulent –a turn inside itself

    which glistens and hardens black

    on your thighs.

    You are selfish.

    Bitter as pith to hoard such juice,

    such life in the hard clutch of your crux.

    What price for one taste? A singular

    nibble at the nexus of where the down-

    pour begins

    -the pinnacle of your sex.

    Athena D. Dixon-Demary
    co-editor, Z-composition Magazine