The Zingara Project

Author: Lisa Hase-Jackson

  • Fugitives by Stephen Mead

    It’s always a matter of what’s got to go—–
    a name, a family, the life of appliances
    just when their warranty’s up,
    customary hardships, comfort
    secure as the house built by Jack
    on four acres of a buried waste dump.

    There’s no guarantee here
    except for plot twists, many trains
    greasing adrenaline in tunnels of glare,
    petrol-pungent, urinal-walled—–

    Hardly glamorous, only, possibly
    the way religion is, any dedicated
    frenzy combining chance, will, know-
    how’s stupendous calm
    depending solely on clues far flung
    as refuge—–

    junks
    wrestling tides in eastern winds,
    our eyes, those lanterns, juxtaposed
    and wide open for skin, skin
    double-shadowed by neon blinking,
    sirens, sheets trusting grace then,
    then without an alibi
    for other warm body lying
    in danger of arrest simply
    by sleeping,

    a loved stranger beside you.

    —

    A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads.  If you are at all interested and get the time, Google “Stephen Mead Art” for links to his multi-media work.

  •  Morning Valentine by Kevin Casey

    In this new mid-February snow  IMG_0784
    a doe drew a line of footfalls
    where the hayfield leans
    against the bordering pines,

    and before the sun climbs
    high enough to wash away
    the shade that shows the curve
    of each depression left

    by her silent writing,
    you’ll need to rise and see
    the valentine we made —
    the deer who shaped with care

    this string of heart-formed marks,
    and I, who hoped to shape
    this moment into something
    you might wish to share.

    —

    Kevin Casey has contributed poems to recent editions of Green Hills Literary Lantern, Hartskill Review, Rust + Moth, San Pedro River Review, and other publications.  His new chapbook “The wind considers everything –” was recently published by Flutter Press, and another from Red Dashboard is due out later this year.

  • You Will Not Be the Same by Stephen Mead

    You brought me cigarettes.IMG_0781[1]
    I brought you cough drops.
    Wounds were disclosed little
    except in momentary darkness
    after darkness.
    Those shades brought light in
    for quite some time.
    News has been flapping over:
    grey rockets, grainy planes…
    Our bodies——palm glades,
    our bodies—–sands.
    Tent life too occurs: spirit dwellings,
    cathedral canteens,
    stucco, thatch, bricks.
    Our faces peer clear
    from such mottled dots.
    You send letters I can cherish
    like no flag.
    I send a hair lock
    as if it were a parachute.
    In transition, times’ crazy waltz
    passes our photos around.
    Have you heard?
    Mine eyes have seen.
    Translate broken languages,
    our hybrid tongues,
    our multi-racial pasts.
    There’s such fertility here,
    such peril, and both signify change.
    Different you will be and me
    I expect too
    though the altered love
    goes just as deep.

     

    —

    A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is a published artist, writer, maker of short-collage films and sound-collage downloads.  If you are at all interested and get the time, click on “Stephen Mead Art” for links to his multi-media work.

  • logic by Philip Kobylarz

    A painted stairway, first step
    to the last, going up. Resulting in
    footprints or not anywhere to go.
    Rains came leaving calling cards
    of leaves. Snails try to enter
    an empty fishbowl.

    —

    Recent work by Philip Kobylarz has appeared or will appear in Connecticut Review, Basalt, Santa Fe Literary Review, New American Writing, Poetry Salzburg Review and has appeared in Best American Poetry. His book, Rues, was recently published by Blue Light Press of San Francisco while his collection of fiction, Now Leaving Nowheresville has been recently published and his book length essay Nearest Istanbul is forthcoming.

     

  • Tired of Literary Rejection?

    Yeah. Me too.

    This week I received three.

    I can tell you that these rejections are actually a good sign because they are proof I sent out work when normally I just think about sending out work; evidence that I actually put together manuscripts of poems and submitted them to journals, presses, or contests instead of just creating yet another intricate spreadsheet mapping out deadlines, markets, and reading fees.

    I can tell you that these rejections aren’t personal, but really, is there anything more personal than one’s art? Still, creative writing isn’t about writing to the whims and specifications of an editor, but writing what one is compelled to write. What an editor likes has little to do with it.

    Finally, I could tell you that this business requires thick skin, except that I believe being a good creative writer requires getting in touch with one’s vulnerability and building connections with others, not developing thicker skin.

    So it boils down to finding ways of normalizing rejection so that we can move on as writers, and spouses, and teachers, and whatever other roles we must fill in our daily lives; it comes down to trying on new perspectives and ways of viewing what we do so we can keep doing it. Here, then, are a few perspectives I think are worth considering:

    • Cultivate a positive mindset before sending out work. Be mindful rather than hasty as you carefully review the work you are submitting. Take time editing and assembling your material. Write a unique cover letter for each market, even if you wind up saying relatively similar things in every letter. Mindfulness reduces anxiety and increases confidence. Your work deserves no less. Even if later declined, you’ll know in your heart that you put together a solid packet of carefully reviewed material, and you can feel good about that.
    • Never, ever (ever, ever) compare your work or your list of publications to another. This will only initiate harsh self-criticism and drain you of your creative energy. All artists are at different stages in their respective processes and many are experimenting with different forms and ideas, some of which work, many of which do not.  All that is evident in a published piece is work that has succeeded in its goal (at least in one editor’s opinion), not the many (painful) failures that came before it. Further, editorial subjectivity rules out any kind of control, so you may just as well compare apples to oranges.
    • Submit more. Rejection letters hold less power when you are still feeling hopeful and high from sending out a packet of new and revised poems to the markets of you dreams.
    • Get busy on related projects. Go to readings, attend online courses and live seminars, get involved with or begin a writers group, teach others, read and write about craft, and stay current in your field. You will continue to develop and grow as a writer while keeping your skills sharp, two musts for future quality submissions.
    • Enjoy unrelated activities to cleanse your aesthetic palette and make room for new ideas. Enjoy a day in nature, become more involved in a hobby, take a course in something you know nothing about, visit a contemporary art museum to challenge your sense of what’s art, attend a live music event, try a new type of food, exercise a little harder than usual (but no pushing). You’ll be creating new neuro-pathways in your brain that will lead to new perspectives and ideas.
    • Play for the sake of play. No goals. No striving. No purpose. Be frivolous for an hour, an afternoon, a day, or a weekend. You will be amazed at how much better your mind works and how much more in touch with your creativity you will be.

    While writing and publishing are, for most, the more meaningful aspects of a writer’s life, submitting and rejection do, despite their tedious nature, have important roles in the development of an artist. If there are ways to make these aspects of the process less difficult for those who, like myself, are bothered by them, well then these approaches should be explored and practiced — for the sake of everyone’s well-being.

    For a sample collection of rejection letters received by well-known writers early in their career, have a look at Literary Rejection Letters.

    And HAPPY WRITING!

     

     

     

  • Love, Maybe Poetry Prompt

    IMG_0769Love is hard.

    Well, maybe not at first.

    At first it’s all excitement and intense desire.

    Fantasies and bliss.

    Surrendering to pheromones and hormones.

    Buying into the cultural ideal of soul mates,

    and quieting insecurities.

    But the day always arrives in which we view our lover, and they us, through lenses of a less rosy hue.

    A time when we must discern between commitment and attraction, choice and devotion, judgment and acceptance, cute Habits and OCD, jokes and insults, and many, many moments of doubt amid general feelings of certainty.

    For today’s prompt, spend 10 minutes freewriting about the early stages of love. Capture all the nuances of bliss that characterize those early feelings that so often are compared to a kind of temporary insanity. Include vivid descriptions of romantic interludes, devotional thoughts, and lusty dreams. No one will see this, so really and truly write freely. Don’t reread your freewrite until you have completed the next step.

    Next, spend 10 minutes freewriting about the realities of living in a committed relationship. Your focus might include such details as kissing your partner despite garlic breath, or maybe how they tolerate your morning breath. It should also include the more difficult aspects of co-habitation, like basic cultural differences, fundamental disagreements about the way the world works, plans forgone for the sake of the relationship, or resentments that arise as a result of choosing love over your dreams.

    Finally, read through your freewriting and highlight lines or images that can support a compelling  poem then get to composing that compelling poem.

    Remember, the difference between a journal entry (however compelling) and a poem is REVISION.IMG_0770

    For an example of how one poet approaches this subject, take a look at “The Kama Sutra of Kindness, Position 3″ by Mary Mackey over at The Writers Almanac. 

     

     

     

  • Word Jumble in a Blue Highway Diner by Michael Brockley

    You drive with the sun in your eyes until blindness becomes another way of seeing. A corona of blue highways emerging from behind an eclipsed sun. You stop for any rumor of a restaurant serving berry pies that taste like the last woman you loved. If the waitress offers a coloring book menu and Summer 2013 204a set of crayons, you thank her for the gift. And order pie. Then weave through the curves and dead-ends of the mazes with wild orange strokes. When business slows and the booths empty, you move so the sunlight sets on your shoulder. Your vision filled with the rebus clues of your lover’s goodbye. The jukebox plays backroad songs only you can hear. Cracked rearview mirrors. A woman wearing a maroon dress. While the cook and the waitress laze over a game of backgammon, you connect the dots to reveal a cartoon turtle holding a fork and knife. Stay for the evening rush, for the aroma of home-made pie. The waitress pauses to dab sandalwood perfume on her wrists. You used to breathe Taboo behind her ears. At your booth you wear a crayon to its nub but find new colors at the cash register. Rhubarb and peach. After the Blue Plate Special, you finish another slice of pie and labor over the words on the menu’s jumble. SISK. RESEID. VELO.

    —

    Michael Brockley has had recent poems published in Facing Poverty, The Tipton Poetry Journal and Panoplyzine. Forthcoming poems will appear in Flying Island and Atticus Review. Brockley is winding down his career as a school psychologist and trying to learn how to navigate the world of e-submissions.

  • Haiku Contest Winners

    Crazyhorse Issue 88, Fall 2015
    Crazyhorse Issue 88, Fall 2015

    Thanks everyone for participating in the first ever ZingarPoet haiku contest. There were several wonderful entries and making a final decision was tough. Here is a list of the top three haiku  (third place is actually a tie) and one honorable mention. Please send your mailing addresses to me at zingarapoet@gmail.com and I will send you a copy of the latest issue of Crazyhorse Literary Journal, featuring the work of the 2015 Contest winners, via USPS sometime this week.

     

    Fist Place:

    Purple mountain fog
    reminds me forgetfulness
    is a cool shower
    ~Kelsey Satalino

    Second Place:

    Loving or lethal?
    Slaughtered remains suggest both,
    but that’s neither, right?
    ~Eve Ott

    Tied for Third:

    fifteen panes of glass
    divide the passing street scene
    into small chapters
    ~Roy Beckemeyer

    writing a haiku
    is like stuffing the whole world
    into a small box
    ~Dennis Etzel

    Honorable Mention:

    These days, when it rains, tiny fish swim the streets, the lawn our lilypad
    ~Lynne Barrett

     

     

  • Write a Haiku, Win a Prize

    Welcome to Zingara Poet’s first ever poetry contest.

    Crazyhorse Issue 88, Fall 2015
    Crazyhorse Issue 88, Fall 2015

    Here’s how it works.

    Write a haiku, senryu, or a Ginsberg sentence in the comments section below between 8:00 AM Friday, January 22nd and 8:00 AM Sunday, January 24 and I will select one (or maybe two) winner(s) from those submitted sometime Sunday afternoon and announce it here. The winner(s) with receive, via USPS, a free copy of the latest issue of Crazyhorse Literary Journal featuring works from their 2015 contest. (This will require disclosure of a mailing address, which can be sent to me via email at zingarapoet@gmail.com).

    As a reminder, haiku is a short poem that contains three phrases with a 5-7-5 metrical count. Traditionally, haiku capture images of the natural world and is the result of careful observation. A really good haiku conveys emotion through juxtaposition of ideas and a “cutting word.” Here’s an example from Basho:

    On a withered branch
    A crow has alighted:
    Nightfall in autumn.

    A Senryu utilizes the same structure as haiku, but focuses on human nature and psychology. Sometimes written as satire, senryu may use humor, but this is not a requirement.

    The Ginsberg sentence is one that contains seventeen syllables. No line breaks, no particular subject or focus. Just seventeen syllables. That’s it.

    Please share widely, and LET’S HAVE SOME FUN!!

    *One comment/poem per person, please.

    Poems only, please. Links and promotional comments will not be approved. 

     

     

  • Solitude by Vinita Agrawal

    In slumber I am not alone.
    Awake, I am.

    In a crowd, I am stranded
    In solitude, found.

    People meet and mix
    They have reasons.

    My reasons are dead.
    I stretch empty from sky to earth.

    I am a sliver of light
    trapped between closed doors.

    Air that cannot be breached
    and moulded into a hug.

    In myself, I am all that is lost
    I am everything that needs to be said.

    —

    Author of two poetry books – Words Not Spoken and The Longest Pleasure, Vinita is a Mumbai, India based, award winning poet and writer. Her second manuscript was selected for publication by Finishing Line Press, Kentucky, USA. Her poems have appeared in Asiancha, Constellations, The Fox Chase Review, Pea River Journal, Open Road Review, Stockholm Literary Review, Poetry Pacific and over a 100 other national and international journals.  She was nominated for the Best of the Net Awards 2011, awarded first prize in the Wordweavers Contest 2014, commendation prize in the All India Poetry Competition 2014 and won the 2014 Hour of Writes Contest thrice.

  • I Get to Race by Frederick Foote

    I get to race
    I get to run

    Three times
    Around the
    Oval cross

    Five of us
    On a
    Hard packed
    Dirt track

    Coursing hounds
    Chasing time

    First lap
    Speed to burn
    Records to set

    Second lap
    Stretch it out
    Take the lead

    Third lap
    Legs dead
    Lungs afire

    Nothing left
    On empty
    Falling across
    The finish line

    Snot and spit
    Covered face
    Lips peeled back

    Eyes rolled up
    Gasping to death

    The most beautiful
    I have ever been

    —

    Frederick K. Foote, Jr. was born in Sacramento, California and educated in Vienna, Virginia and northern California. He started writing short stories and poetry in 2013.

    He has published numerous stories and poems and will have a collection of his short stories published this year by Blue Nile Press.

     

  • New Picks for the New Year

    Misc iPhone 2015 025Welcome to 2016, y’all.

    It feels great to have Zingara Poet back in rotation of this juggling act called the poet’s life. The last two and a half years have witnessed my move from the High Desert to the Low Country and finally, after years of agonizing over the decision, the completion of an MFA program; two major events that have taken a bit of a toll on the consistency of the publication of poetry picks.

    Now I’m looking forward to a poetry-filled 2016 that will see the publication of a number of wonderful poems to Zingara’s Poetry Picks. Readers should look forward to a cadre of new poetry prompts designed to generate inspired writing, several new poet interviews, and, time permitting (in my schedule, I mean), a number few book reviews.

    This year’s picks are seriously good and I’m forever amazed at the quality of poems submitted — I can’t even begin to express how much enjoyment I get out of reading them. If you haven’t heard, the deadline for 2016 has been extended until the last day of January, so if you didn’t get around to submitting your poems yet, there’s still time.

    Remember to subscribe to the blog or follow me on twitter to keep up with poetry picks, prompts, and other related poetry news.

    Thanks for your support and HAPPY WRITING!

  • Belongings by Richard King Perkins II

    It’s too late to gather your clothes
    about you;

    the morning light has already found you naked
    just before his eyes of acid rain—

    working the last half day in reverse
    without the sun’s spirant assistance.

    An intimate world collapsing

    swans in a cesspool
    branches of brine
    hands barricading your clouded face

    if there was a chance out
    it wasn’t beneath the lost demure of these sheets—

    flailing gestures only bind you tighter
    to a bed that was never yours.

    —

    Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, IL, USA with his wife, Vickie and daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart nominee and a Best of the Net nominee whose work has appeared in more than a thousand publications.

  • the shaman sees the Dread Unless by Wayne-Daniel Berard

     didn't need them this time
 White Bear Eagle Sea Turtle
 Ivory Dove
 just directly to the motel room
 himself  sitting at the foot of the bed
 finished and finished and
 entirely seized
 (Merlin and Morgana)
 and you standing to the right
 behind him in
 your black bra and slip
 never looking so lost
 possessed
 by all that losing
    he snapped to
    like a slap
    a mystic
    rear end collision
 lost your number
 and has passed
 you by every day since
 his dearest friend
 quizzical hurt saved

---

Wayne-Daniel Berard, an adoptee who found and embraced his 
Jewishness, teaches English and Humanities at Nichols College, 
Dudley, MA. He is an interfaith clergy person, and co-founding 
editor of Soul-Lit, an online journal of spiritual poetry. He 
lives in Mansfield, MA with his wife, The Lovely Christine.

  • Rest Stop by Allyson Whipple

    ~For Harrison Porobil

    You’ve survived worse odds
    than this: childhood,
    hurricanes, homelessness.
    This time it’s just a broken
    lock that has you stuck
    here, taking stock
    of misfortune. What a way
    to spend Christmas
    morning, trapped on I-10.
    Gas station toilet a stinking
    pen. But no matter
    how you turn and pull
    and push until your muscles
    burn you’re stuck with stale
    air and stink and more time
    than you’d like to think
    about the turning of the year.

    There’s sweat upon your brow
    from fighting with the force
    that holds you in. As it’s always been:
    you’re a man of motion. Kick
    the door open, get in the car.

    —

    Allyson Whipple has an M.A. in English and a black belt in Kung Fu. She is currently studying poetry through the UT-El Paso Online MFA Program. Allyson serves as co-editor of the Texas Poetry Calendar, and is the author of the chapbook We’re Smaller Than We Think We Are. She teaches at Austin Community College.

    Texas Poetry Calendar 2016