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 yourselves...at 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. z-composition@zombiepoetry.com/
Please check out our submission page if you are interested in being in the magazine. We are not just about Zombies...so many more creatures lurk in the dark spaces of our minds and want a place to premiere.
Thank you,
Editorial Team
Z-composition
Here is mine!
ReplyDeleteHungry 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
Z-composition
Creative TMI
Blood Orange
ReplyDeleteWhat 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