May Zine Reading -- Great Start!

Finally! Zine season has begun. This morning I started in on my stack of Etsy poetry books/zines and lucked out with the first two.

Starting with The Untier of Impossible Knots, which has a perfect cover illustration--these are poems to lift overhead and read and then pause to see what you're thinking or feeling. My favorite poem in this balances between "Today Four Crows" and "Never Trust a Vehicle" but enjoyed the volume as a whole; it's the kind of volume you can return to and find a different favorite for the day, a bit of solace, or a concept to think through. Would recommend.

Maybe you don't do this...but I worry that the next book you select after one you enjoyed will suffer for being next. But...there's the basket of poetry and Anna Bayuk's Venus of the Swamp was waiting. I read the back first--Ms. Bayuk was the 2020 South Florida Youth Poet Laureate. So far, so good. Lovely cover. It includes art and poems! She has a gift for selecting images that chime with her words and the poems are great. I wish I could have written them. I wish even more I could have read them when I was younger. Would recommend.

There are several more waiting to be read...more tomorrow? Looking forward to more discoveries.

-- chrissa

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Once Upon a Future Past

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #204 . It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening ran behind me dragons, demons, and the sleeping world; afraid to turn, to wake me. Power needs its horror stories, its ghosts. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening followed close; a fantasy of goodness, where the gold is always covering bones. Power needs its fairy tales, its witches. It's too far in the afternoon, I thought but evening treads my hem, like an army from the dragon's teeth and all the lies therein. -- Chrissa

On Bad Days

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #186 . Sorry. Probably best to skip this one. On bad days I argue with the void: it is empty; I call it full of nothing made pathological; therefore it obsesses to possess mass, to be something arguing with the universe but shouting in the mirror black as starlit backdrop, as stars that fall deeper and deeper into time until they drag everything into the void and are empty, wrung out of needing to have an argument and then we look at each other, deep in the black fallen forever of our gaze. I wasn't going to post this week. But that probably doesn't matter...because here is a post. This has been a weird week and, in the midst of much more important things, my NaNo project just [temporarily] self-destructed. There will be a return to that project and I'm already sharpening the knives for it. Just need to let a little off-topic anger abate so that everyone doesn't get flamethrowers and a crazy 80's soundtrack. AAAAAAAAEEEEEIIIIIIIIIII!...

Fearsome by Survival

Sharing today with T he Sunday Muse #189 , where Shay is hosting. Come and read and share a piece! On a web-white, wool-quiet morning I found the girl our stories gave us The one who survived She wore the meadow, carded and sewn Long since burned for field Still, she knew me Her stories named me fierce, feral She might have feared The one who devours Neither of us spoke, patient at morning Breath, warmth, silence Innocent of power We know the stories kill us both We know that we become Fearsome by survival Hello and welcome. It's 67 degrees outside this morning and a warm December weekend might seem like the kind of thing that would prevent me from following through on a plan to hibernate with a good book for the rest of the weekend...but it's the doomscrolling that's run down the charge on my phone that's preventing me from doing that. Also, I may have developed an intolerance to long stretches of quiet during the past year and a half. Anyway. Looking forward to r...

A Weed on The Curb

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