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SUNDAY ANNOUNCEMENTS: Calls for Submissions, Contests, Events, and Other News and Information


Happy Easter – eyd fash saeid – to my family and others who are honoring the day. xo Chag sameach to my Jewish friends who are honoring Passover. xo No matter religion or lack thereof, may our hearts, minds, souls and bodies be ever free. I hope everyone enjoyed the day and now – LOL! – back to work.



CALLS FOR SUBMISSIONS

Opportunity Knocks

DIRTY PAWS POETRY REVIEW published its first issue in December and is preparing to publish its second. Submissions are now open through May 25, 2018. There is to be a special section of Women of the South. Details HERE.

OYSTER RIVER PAGES has published its inaugural issue  featuring fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction, and visual arts by sixty-plus contributors. It is an annual publication with an open call for submissions to its second issue through May 15, 2018. No submission fees. No payment. Details HEREInternship 2019: Opens for applications in December 2018.

RATTLE publishes poetry and translations of poetry. It is open for submissions year round. There are no fees for submissions. Payment for print publication is $100 and a subscription. Publication online is paid $50. Rattle’s 2018 Fall issue is dedicated to previously unpublished poets. Rattle’s editors say it will celebrate fifteen or twenty first-publications. The deadline for submissions to the Unpublished Poets issue is April 15. All free submissions are automatically considered for the annual Neil Postman Award for Metaphor, a $1,000 prize judged by the editors.

RATTLE YOUNG POETS ANTHOLOGY requires parent, legal guardian or teachers to submit poems. Teachers may submit poems from up to five students. Submissions are open through June 15, 2018.  Youth must be under sixteen years. Details HERE.

RED HEN PRESS, A Nonprofit Literary Organization, publishes fiction, nonfiction and poetry books. Submission guidelines are HERE.

THE RUSH LITERARY MAGAZINE, a publication of the MFA program in Creative Writing at St. Mary’s University in Los Angeles is accepting submission of poetry, fiction, nonfiction and visual art and photography through April 15, 2018. No submission fees. No payment. Details HERE.

STILL POINT ARTS QUARTERLY, a publication of Sharti Arts, is honoring the 75th anniversary of the 1943 publications of Norman Rockwell’s Four Freedoms paintings, These were based on President F.D.R.’s 1941 State of the Union address with its fall issue, The Four Freedoms Reinterpreted. The April 1 deadline for writing submissions has been extended though May 1, 2018. Submissions may include fiction, non-fiction, essay and poetry. The art submissions deadline is July 1, 2018 and includes painting, drawing, photography, sculpture and more. Acceptance notification by August 1. Details HERE. Shanti Arts also offers online classes in writing and photograph that run from $160-$190. Details HERE.


CONTESTS

Opportunity Knocks

THE 2018 AGNES LYNCH STARRETT POETRY PRIZE COMPETIONS of The University of Pittsburgh Press is open for submissions through April 30, 2018. $25 submission fee. Cash award of $5,000 and publication. Details HERE.

THE CAROLYN FORCHÉ PRIZE FOR HUMANITARIAN POETRY is open through August 15, 2018. The prize winner and ten runner-ups will be published in the 2018-2019  anthology, Elusions: Refugee Poems, to be published by WaterWood Press. Cash award: $1,000. Submission fee: $10. Details HERE.

“Different people have articulated … [poetry as] the natural prayer of the human soul. I feel very blessed to have this vocation. ” Carolyn Forchè

THE CLIFF BECKER BOOK PRIZE IN POETRY TRANSLATION for a book-length manuscript is $1,000 and publication by White Pine Press. Submissions accepted through April 16, 2018. Submission fee: $25. Details HERE.

$10,000 RATTLE POETRY PRIZE submission deadline: July 15, 2018. $25 entry fee. Details HERE.

RED HEN PRESS LITERARY AWARDS offeres several opportunities each year. Two of their competitions are currently open for submissions: The Quill Prose Award (150 pages by a queer writer), which closes on August 31, has an entry fee of $10 and a cash award ($1,000) and publication; 2018 Red Hen Press Nonfiction Award, closes on April 30, $20 entry fee, and $,1000 cash award and publication.

THE DIAGRAM 2018 CHAPBOOK CONTEST is accepting submission through April 27. Entry fee: $20. Cash award of $1,000 and publication. Details HERE


FELLOWSHIP

RUTH LILLY and DOROTHY SARGENT ROSENBERG POETRY FELLOWSHIPS sponsored by the Poetry Foundation (U.S.) is a national competitionaccepting application through April 30, 2018 from poets age 21 – 31 years. The award is $25,800. Details HERE.


EVENTS

  • East Bay Launch for “Invisible Gifts, Poems” (Manic D Press) with Maw Shein Win and Guests, Pegasus Books Downtown, Sunday April 15, 7:30 p.m. “Themes of vulnerability and power emerge through reflections on family, art, and loss from an award-winning poet.” Details HERE.
  • Poetix: Poetry Events for Southern California 
  • UK Poetry Festivals,The Poetry Business
  • The European Poetry Festival, April 5 – April 12, 2018. Forty poets. London. Five events. Details HERE.
  • Book Festivals U.S., 2018, Book Reporter

KUDOS TO

  • Bozhidar Pangelove, Bulgarian poet, for the publication of On the Sand They Remain in Oddball Magazine.
  • Denise Fletcher, American poet, for two poems included in The Words Are in My Soul Anthology, available now at Amazon
  • Michael Rothenberg, Terri Carrion and others in 100TPC for their poetic protest against gun violence, which was featured in the Tallahassee Democrat HERE.

OTHER NEWS AND INFORMATION


YOUR SUNDAY ANNOUNCEMENTS may be emailed to thepoetbyday@gmail.com. Please do so at least a week in advance.

If you would like me to consider reviewing your book, chapbook, magazine or film, here are some general guidelines:

  • send PDF to jamiededes@gmail.com (Note: I have a backlog of six or seven months, so at this writing I suggest you wait until June 2018 to forward anything. Thank you!)
  • nothing that foments hate or misunderstanding
  • nothing violent or encouraging of violence
  • English only, though Spanish is okay if accompanied by translation
  • your book or other product  should be easy for readers to find through your site or other venues.

TO CONTACT ME WITH ANNOUNCEMENTS AND OTHER INFORMATION FOR THE POET BY DAY: thepoetbyday@gmail.com

TO CONTACT ME REGARDING SUBMISSIONS FOR THE BeZINE: bardogroup@gmail.com

PLEASE do not mix the communications between the two.


Often information is just thatinformation – and not necessarily recommendation. I haven’t worked with all the publications or other organizations featured in my regular Sunday Announcements or other announcements shared on this site. Awards and contests are often (generally) a means to generate income, publicity and marketing mailing lists for the host organizations, some of which are more reputable than others. I rarely attend events anymore. Caveat Emptor: Please be sure to verify information for yourself before submitting work, buying products, paying fees or attending events et al.


ABOUT THE POET BY DAY

no baggage needed, a poem



behind the paced metallic clatter of nursing rounds
the mind migrates to a place where solitude is light
and the man in the moon is silent and stubborn, like
the stars refusing to speak english, though old sun,
a free sprit, speaks love in every language

come morning
i awaken to gusty bursts of citrus colors,
lively yellow ginkgo leaves boogie-woogie in the wind,
with pen in claw, a grumpy old crow signs my discharge papers . . .

i’m ready to go ~
my carryall carries nothing

every journey, i have learned,
is a leg on the journey home

no baggage needed
no baggage wanted

Old poem, rewritten © 2018, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved


ABOUT

Two poems and your Wednesday Writing Prompt

 



Bay City, Poem I

San Francisco Bay. Seagulls plant themselves

near heavy metal, making tracks across a bridge.

It’s well know for its span and golden beauty.

Like a gothic cathedral, it spins toward heaven,

stops short, dips and trips to the other side.

Same story. Only the address has changed.

Bay City, Poem II

The seagulls spin and spiral and call.

They fly into the wind and over water.

Dawn catches them wings spread,

hang-gliding over ports and beaches.

© 2018, poems, Jamie Dedes; photograph courtesy of Petr Kratochvil, Public Domain Pictures.net.


WEDNESDAY WRITING PROMPT 

There are many reasons why place is important to poets and writers. The reasons include not just inspiration – though that may often be primary – but also to evoke mood, to underline theme, and often even as a “character.”  Write about a place you find particularly beautiful, meaningful, evocative or compelling in some way. Post your poem(s) or a link to it/them in the comments section below.  If this is your first time responding to Wednesday Writing Prompt, please be sure to email a photo and brief bio to thepoetbyday@gmail.com so that you might be introduced to readers.  This weekly theme-based prompt is all about exercising the writing muscle, showcasing your work and getting to know other poets. Please feel free – encouraged – to join in no matter the status of your career: novice, emerging or pro. All work shared in response to this week’s theme will be published next Tuesday.


ABOUT

“Our Takeaway”…. and other responses to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt

 



My apologies to all those who shared poems in response to the last Wednesday Writing Prompt. I didn’t realize today was Tuesday and time to post your wonderful work for all to see. The reason – not excuse, as they say – is I am totally in airhead mode with this relocation. So, here we go … still Tuesday by me but I know for some of you it’s already a new day …

The last prompt, Wednesday, March 21, after the injera, the way, the niter kibby: tell us about a take away from your travels or vacation garnered us these lovelies. Thank you to Kakali Das Gosh, Pleasant Street, Paul Brookes, Sonja Benskin Mesher, and Reena Presad. Enjoy! 


Our Takeaway

always on a Friday. A menu
taken out of the kitchen drawer,

unfolded. Dad scribbles what everyone
wants. I choose egg fried rice.

Using phone on the phone table
in hallway Dad rings order through.

Sister and I chorus:
“Can I come when you go, Dad?”

After days of school meals,
meat and two veg. at home,

takeaway is exotic. In the car
usual casual joke “egg flied lice.”

Inhale fragrance of garlic,
soy and foreign voices far above

as we join the queue, Dad collects
a thin white plastic bag that bulges

with sharp edged foil cartons
on kitchen side carefully

extracts each box, bends back lips
releases plumes of spicy heat

to put on already warmed plates,
carried through to front room.

Empty cartons are placed back in white bag
rushed out to a bin so smell does not linger.

© 2018, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow)

I A Glede

dark wraith,
elegant, rangy,
float russet and goldflash,
above winter’s woodland,

street cleaner,
snatch roadkill from gutters,
pavements, lobbed pizzas, chips,
knickers, jackets, teddy bears,
odd shoes, toy giraffes
rest with my feathered young,
decorate my nest.

© 2018, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow)

Servant

For a time I do bother
to polish the surfaces,
hoover, wash and iron.

If only for myself,
but then myself is not enough.
Dust piles, crumpled clothes dirty.

I fall asleep among dirty sheets,
empty crisp packets,
half eaten cold pizzas,
stink of mice piss.

Awake to freshly laundered sheets,
clean carpets, clothes washed, ironed.
Surfaces polished smell of Lavender.
How could this happen?

Again I fall asleep while tv on,
amongst discarded chocolate papers,
left over cake on plates,
half drunk cans of lager.

Awake to tv off, rubbish binned,
plates washed, dried put away,
Citrus not stale beer and rotting smell.
I’m intrigued. Curious.

It takes no effort to be a slob, again.
Spill crisps down sides of chairs,
dribble tea into carpet, crumbs.
Energy drinks ready I stay awake.

Energy sup is the biz. Make
Me hyper so I see these two tiny
Folk, man and woman, like regular
Nanites sorting my crap.

Like my old man never were
this one hoovers up crumbs,
packs his black bin bag with cans,
busies, polishes, scrubs to his bones.

His old woman like mam, I guess,
dusts, scours a whirlwind devil.
Part of me says they do as they must,
the other sees what they lack.

Next night I leave them a gift
of nothing to tidy, to put away.
They seem contented as I watch
surrogate mam and dad leave for good.

© 2018, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow)

I’m Man Enough

18 in 1980 week afore starting uni,
lads night out and your dressed
in Burton’s bright yellow like a canary,
socks, shoes, shirt, jacket, because it’s cool.

Lads boast they down 11/12 pints
of John Smiths bitter a night,
shag a lass then do same next night.
You’ve never done neither.

Follow lads round like fresh meat,
loud and brash, they talk of shagging
bints, fast cars, live bands you’ve
never seen coddled by your mam and dad.

Four pints in and your eyelids droop,
bitter makes you fall asleep, lasses
in short skirts with intentions nuzzle
up but loud music means you can’t listen

to what they’re saying and wouldn’t know
what to say. Lads jostle you. “We’re off
to neet club. A tha cumming?”. I shout
an apology. “Got to be in by 11.”

They get off. I leave the pub, buy
a pizza and pissed walk home uphill
chomping on greasy slices, cardboard
box too big, one side of road to another.

© 2018, Paul Brookes (The Wombwell Rainbow)


# I’d depart this land #

His visage is still vivid in this misty evening
Those eyes
Those pink hands
Those lips
Those jowls
Those days in Kashmir
still call me in this lonely evening
That crystal lake
That stream
Those golden apples
Those flower boats
Those diamond peaks
Are playing in my weepy eyes
His words
His kisses
His smile
His last touch
Perhaps still have retained a token of our fancy
In the last cherry tree of that garden
I’d depart -I’d depart this land
To searh for those flying hairs
Those heavenly fingers
Embracing me
in that florid houseboat…

© 2018, Kakali Das Ghosh


. it is a holiday .

they say, and close the stores.

it is complicated, to do with floor space and employees rights.

we had chocolate eggs, worked hard, let our arms loose.

warmer now, the sun shone, people came, visited,

smiled, fondled the wool, spoke of age and weaving.

he said there were many looms in his day.

he is eighty eight, he told me many times.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher (sonja-benskin-mesher.net; Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA paintings; sonja-benskin-mesher.co.uk)

. permanent traveller .

having had a few days off, no not from honest work,

yet writing, rests the mind, i find that everyday

things, mote well on my behalf.

i heard the cock crow early,

looked for swallow flight, seeing none,

cleaned, tidied, then came to write.

it has been a pleasant morning.

© 2018, Sonja Benskin Mesher (sonja-benskin-mesher.net; Sonja Benskin Mesher, RCA paintings; sonja-benskin-mesher.co.uk)


You Do The Math

(what I wrote while traveling
back to the town we met in and fell
in love, and back again)

dancing tall in my living room
to George and Elton
(does it really happen
if no-one sees it
like that tree in the forest)
he says sometimes I never go out
(could tell him stories about 1985
when I lived ten years in 12 months)
and I dance and dance

my head full of 1990
(wonderwall,hammer,hit me baby)
one more time–let’s dance as one
I’ll lead this time–you follow
if you still have that notion
that 1+1=1
and 2+1=no end of joy

perhaps we will find
a new kind of happy-
ness, wrapped in understanding
and lessons learned
(old flames, new rites of passage)
let’s not forget, and dance to now
(rhianna, poison, blended with
the Beatles, Eagles, and 21
pilots, shaken and stirred)

once I thought it was most crucial
to fly without a net
but I believe
the trick
is
to not let go

© 2018, Pleasant Street (are you thrilled)


AESTIVATION

The road is an arid breath
wheezing through barren boughs

I unpacked you on the green bed
My hair flying wild
Bees humming about silken valleys

We left together to explore the trail
of a dust-swept summer
Drunk bees still buzzed in hordes
till a flycatcher caught up with us

Your summer, a mirage
A shimmering wall of sorrow
Dry-eyed, I listened to its howl
They lamented in Nizwa and Sohar
yet you held your sorrow in
waiting for Khareef

The Hajar mountains twisted to get
a glimpse of tourists
fooled by bursts of paper blooms

Parched, we returned
A white eye of a flycatcher followed us
The wall wept then at my infecundity

But in my rucksac, carefully preserved roots lived
To soak in tap water at leisure
and bring forth a trail of sprouting greens

I smelt then
the base notes of a buried south-westerly monsoon
feeling buds of earthy love
from this land of hidden green
burst open beneath dry skin

© Reena Prasad (Butterflies of Time – A Canvas of Poetry)
originally published in GloMag May 2016


ABOUT