My unrelenting desire to label the millennial generation brings us to a split-level apartment on a Main Street block in Northeastern Connecticut. About a dozen people haphazardly form a circle in the living room. In the center of the room, a goldfish in a glass bowl is suspended from a…
Tag: Poetry
L(RR) is for…
Warning: It’s that time of year. You already know what this post is about. ( Since there’s been love, and language of course, there have been words, infinite words, written about love. In fact, many would argue that love is one of, if not the, most pervasive topic in literature….
If my life is ever biography-worthy…
Who would I like to write about my…. Feeling alive? Ray Bradbury. “The grass whispered under his body. He put his arm down, feeling the sheath of fuzz on it, and, far away, below, his toes creaking in his shoes. The wind sighed over his shelled ears. The…
“Artifacts of Our Affection” By Amber West (2014)
Wallace Stevens Poetry Prize, Second Place (2014) When I notice mold in my toothbrush mug I remember the pigeons roosting in the airshaft: their toilet, their nest, our bedroom view dusk and dawn Monogamous, amorous, pigeons are known for their soft cooing calls Once I had three mugs. Gold-trimmed. Blond…
“Jean-Michel Basquiat’s Last One-Artist Show at the Baghoomian Gallery” By Kate Monica (2014)
Wallace Stevens Poetry Contest, Second Place (2014) Collins Literary Prize, Poetry Winner (2014) The passion’s bled out. I’ve split open all the oranges I possibly could to see the wet jewels shining like teeth in the sun and I’ve pushed my fingers into the meat of it and I’ve popped…
“The Wall” By Miller Oberman (2014)
Wallace Stevens Poetry Contest, Winner (2014) Once, drunk, and having just avoided a fight, the two walked outside from the dark dive smelling thrillingly of sour beer and sweat and clapping the blue pool chalk from their hands, they, coming to a boarded up construction site, made fists, their hair…
Can good writing be taught?
The week before I graduated high school I received a letter in the mail from my fifth grade self. My librarian had had us write them in our final days of elementary school and she saved them in her attic for seven years before sending a friendly reminder of the…
Noche Dorada at UConn
On February 22nd, I went to the Lambda Upsilon Lambda event called “Noche Dorada.” It was mostly just an excuse to eat really good Spanish food– sweet platanos and arroz con pollo and creamy, amazing flan. The best part is that you get to eat the food while listening to…
#tbt: Or, Prepubscent Poetry
I made a few promises to myself when I was younger: 1) Marry Peter Brady. (So far, I have made very little progress.) 2) Become a Pokemon master. (Working on it.) 3) Never stop writing. (Well, I haven’t stopped yet.) However, what “never ends” must at one point begin. I’m…
*—Top 10 Romantic Movie Lines for an Awful Poem—*
Each verse gets worse– a last-ditch effort to disseminate some quality teen angst before Valentine’s Month is over: I want you to draw me like one of your French girls But I am nobody’s little weasel. They say bread is life. And I bake bread, bread, bread….
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