Submissions to the fifth issue of Australian literary journal Burrow are open until July 20.
I’m very happy to say my poem ‘Holding On’ was accepted for the upcoming September edition.
The editors, Rhiannon Jillian Hall and Phillip Hall wrote:
“We are delighted to be able to publish ‘Holding On’. This is such a richly evocative and appreciative poem of place, & emotional/spatial fragility. We love it.”
I encourage my fellow poets to check out this fabulous journal. The provocation for the September issue of Burrow, Old Water Rat Publishing is : What does mental health (good or otherwise) look like through the prism of place?
Have a read of my prose poem ‘Someone I Don’t Know Side-Swiped My Car’, first published in Quadrant magazine April 2021, Hope you enjoy it.
Someone I Don’t Know Side-Swiped My Car:
Bad luck recently, you could say, after surviving some extremely unfortunate luck. For hours I sat across from you in the Emergency Bay: your face dripping with blood. They gave you a compress to stop the flow of red from your cheekbones and your nose. Every time you touched your face, it opened up the wound. Punched in both eyes and the nose. A robbery as you walked home, I hear you tell your girlfriend on the mobile. And then you’re telling the emergency nurse you can’t wait any longer to see a doctor. ‘You may have concussion,’ she cautioned.
Did you find your way home?
For days I wonder how you are. I sniff the first spring jasmine hanging over the fence and your girlfriend whom I’ve never met crowds my thoughts, till one day, peering out my bedroom window, I notice someone has side-swiped my car. Not exactly what I’d expected to see but, man, the wisteria are showing their purple blooms. A nervous possum balances on the telephone line above the road and there’s a newspaper article about an elderly cyclist who died after a freak bike accident caused by a swooping magpie. Bad luck that a second vehicle crashed into my car while it waited at the smash repair place. Look up, take care, someone or something you don’t know may sideswipe you or punch you in the nose.
I’m delighted to say that my new poem ‘Words’ has been accepted for publication in Quadrant magazine. Big thank you to Literary Editor, Professor Barry Spurr.
Unfortunately, it takes at least a year from acceptance to publication in Quadrant, but I’m not complaining 🙂
Maja Amanita shared on Facebook this list of poetry opportunities for you to enter sourced from the Red Room Poetry page and email list.
Before the month ends, have a read of my 3 poems in December Quadrant magazine: ‘Survival’, ‘White Ibis’ and ‘When the New Boyfriend Nearly Died’. Big thank you to Literary Editor, Professor Barry Spurr.
Am thrilled and delighted that my poem, ‘A Jogger At My Heels’ was published in last Saturday’s Canberra Times Panorama Arts section. Big thank you to Poetry Editor, Penelope Cottier and to The Canberra Times for retaining a Poetry Corner.
Have a read:
Did someone say that poetry is the purest form of art?
Poetry, the highest form of literature, influences us because it shows different shades of human beings. In fact, poetry is one of the most ancient arts and also the product of human imagination. It expresses different feelings such as friendship, love, death and other human emotions. In literature, poetry stands first even today because poetry has such power to influence this world. Poetry still dominates other forms of literature such as novel, drama, short story etc. Poetry is taught in schools and colleges across the world. The reason is that poetry can tap the emotions of students and their power of imagination. When it comes to English literature, poetry is the dominant form of literature from Chaucer’s period to Modern English Period. In the history of English literature, poetry has dominated other forms in Romantic period, Pre-Raphaelites period, the Metaphysical school of poets, the Classical Movement etc. Thus, poetry has a special place in English literature rather than other forms.
My prose poem ‘Amber Puppy’ was first published in Quadrant magazine in September 2019.
I do enjoy writing prose poetry. Prose poetry is a cross between a poem and a prose piece, although, according to Wikipedia, prose poetry is poetry written in prose form instead of verse form, while preserving poetic qualities such as heightened imagery, parataxis, and emotional effects.
Have a read of my poem and tell me what you think:
Amber Puppy:
What can an amber puppy mean in a world of Siris and driverless cars?
I was older, one of the Baby Boomers. Life was a series of warnings: Don’t fall over rugs or loose cords, don’t overeat, don’t go to bed before nine, drink coffee after midday, watch too much Netflix. When the new puppy arrived one birthday, rich brown as a raisin, I heard it shadowing me: Don’t trip on the dog’s lead.
There was much to be anxious about. One day, walking through the park – the rain had eased, spring waterfalls spilled into the creek, soon we would cool off under the trees – I lost my grip on the lead. Into the bushes he fled, disappearing into green. Since when did parks swallow small dogs? I drove home in a frantic car. My best friend. I’d loved him and he’d loved me.
The days staggered past like drunks. I prayed silently, absorbed sunshine, climbed steps, wrote Letters to the Editor. Don’t panic, don’t shallow breathe, don’t think the worst – you could hear it all around. A reclining Buddha could show you how to deepen the breath. A bird call at first light could tell you when to get up. A storm could remember to fill the dams and the water tanks – I was meandering between the trees when I saw him scampering through the creek. Splashing around then shaking himself dry. A muddy escapee. A barking survivor.
Where had he been these three long days? I could wash him, wrap him in a towel, take him home. Unexpected good news could still happen. Dogs off-the-leash need to stay close to their mistresses. Trees shed their leaves in winter and dogs run away, but find their way back. Seventy-two hours later, what can an amber puppy tell you in a world of Botox and identity theft?
See the difference between holding on and losing your grip.
Libby Sommer, Author 