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Online Poetry & Prose: post a link!

(Wordy)

(Wordy)

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Aside from this forum, do you guys read poetry or prose online?

I’ve found this site to be a stunning resource, collecting the best of ‘experimental’ / ‘contemporary’ poetry and art mags online:

http://www.selbyslist.com

Anyway, my idea for this thread is that you post a link to a poem, or a short piece of prose. Preferably not a well-known piece of work – preferably something that first appeared online, rather than in print (if possible). Hope this makes sense! I guess I’m interested in the web and the opportunities it presents for creative writing: opportunities for reading, for publication, and for presenting words in novel ways. After all, the web is a place where you can be exposed to things it might be hard to find elsewhere (with every niche, every fetish catered for in some capacity). These days there are probably more literary journals and more galleries online than there are “offline”!

So I’ll kick things off:


“Although This Never Happened” by Kimiko Ostrozovich (as featured in Columbia Poetry Review, Vol. 17)
 
why not make this a sticky?

ive been looking for an online poetry community other than bluelight/words (not that id ever leave!)

but its difficult to find one that suits my fancy.

maybe other BLrs know some sites?

(and i know i kinda missed the point of your post, as i dont know where any online poetry is--its like a drug community, once youre in youre in... but untill then....)`
 
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Yeah I'll consider making it a sticky if people get into it.

I wasn't really talking about "online communities", but sites that "publish" poetry and prose online, i.e. online (maga)zines, journals, and I guess blogs as well (especially blogs that operate like a zine by accepting submissions, etc).
 
Here’s a little strange something that I found at http://www.combopoetry.com/. I can’t link to the poem directly, because the site uses Flash for menus and navigation.


Ronald Palmer: Subject: Matter(s): #6: Wombs

I purchase a fetus from a medical catalogue. Stuff it with sawdust: raise it like a doll: like a son. Ignore it: (you don't have to feed it!): no bother at all: drag it through town: on a coiled leash: his mind still works: they're rigged to keep developing: little machine toys: not like the Sixteenth Century: when men died before their memory: resurfaced like a bar of soap emerging: from bluishly-opaque bathwater. Perhaps I'll teach his tiny mouth to sing. Mold it into a little me: with all my beautiful potential: for constructing consumer pride. I'll prop him up in my front window: during the red and green light of holiday season. (Perhaps I will buy one for every window!) Each son a different color: the whole house will be glowing with sons: (O false passion of renewed life!): a stuffed fetus singing behind every pane of glass: (so many windows!): a different God program: planted in each tiny fetus brain: while my lover and I: are wrapped in a blue water blanket: (O holographic ideal world!) We'll be listening to each glistening translation of their wonderful orchestration: a song of forced: Capitalistic unity: marching out of our sterile American houses: Puerto Rican American: Chinese American: Japanese American: Irish American: Italian American: African American: Jamaican American: German American: Brazillian American: the long line of teetering fetuses: singing their pre-recorded message to the world: while my lovers mind is gliding against my own electric mind: I'm somehow still me: he is somehow still he: both tubes of our wet-flesh: dreaming of wombs.
 
(Wordy) said:
Here’s a little strange something that I found at http://www.combopoetry.com/. I can’t link to the poem directly, because the site uses Flash for menus and navigation.


Ronald Palmer: Subject: Matter(s): #6: Wombs

I purchase a fetus from a medical catalogue. Stuff it with sawdust: raise it like a doll: like a son. Ignore it: (you don't have to feed it!): no bother at all: drag it through town: on a coiled leash: his mind still works: they're rigged to keep developing: little machine toys: not like the Sixteenth Century: when men died before their memory: resurfaced like a bar of soap emerging: from bluishly-opaque bathwater. Perhaps I'll teach his tiny mouth to sing. Mold it into a little me: with all my beautiful potential: for constructing consumer pride. I'll prop him up in my front window: during the red and green light of holiday season. (Perhaps I will buy one for every window!) Each son a different color: the whole house will be glowing with sons: (O false passion of renewed life!): a stuffed fetus singing behind every pane of glass: (so many windows!): a different God program: planted in each tiny fetus brain: while my lover and I: are wrapped in a blue water blanket: (O holographic ideal world!) We'll be listening to each glistening translation of their wonderful orchestration: a song of forced: Capitalistic unity: marching out of our sterile American houses: Puerto Rican American: Chinese American: Japanese American: Irish American: Italian American: African American: Jamaican American: German American: Brazillian American: the long line of teetering fetuses: singing their pre-recorded message to the world: while my lovers mind is gliding against my own electric mind: I'm somehow still me: he is somehow still he: both tubes of our wet-flesh: dreaming of wombs.
Click to expand...

i know im not supposed to be negative, but a no one here wrote that poem. its utter crap! THAT can get published? 8o
 
It's flawed, but I don't think it's "utter crap". I actually posted it because I thought it might appeal to people here. Maybe I was wrong.

UnSquare, cheers for the links. I've read some Stephen Crane before. I'll have a proper read of both when I get a chance. :)
 
^ No, I enjoyed it, it's clever, but slightly off putting at the same time. I dig work that has that disturbed edge to it.


Anyway, this is a piece of writing that I still keep coming back to, several years after I first read it. Unfortunately I've lost the original link to it, but it was posted on Deviant Art.


khe sanh rivers

sometimes when I remember how it was,
I'm drinking cheap liquor from a tin cup I
had from the war and I can't hold it
steady and it falls on the floor, spills out and
runs in the cracks in the wood and

it reminds me of that time in Khe Sanh when it
rained all day, pissing down in muddy streamers
and collected in little pools and
wore tributaries in the mud and when it
stopped

there was this little girl skinny and naked with
just a rag wrapped around her waist and
she huddled in the waste and shit of the village

when I walked by she looked me with
these huge eyes driven deep in her face and
she held out a hand and said probably the only
word she knew "water" and again
"water" so I give some water in the tin cup I had

and she holds it and stares at her own big
brown eyes and then she crouches down
in the mud and carefully pours the water out
onto the ground and it flows in the rutted cracks
and makes little rivers

and when they ask me what it was like
I say "follow me" and take a cup and
fill it full of water and

I go outside and pour it out on the ground
and they say "what does that mean" and I
point at the water trickling dirty through
the cracks and I say "that's what it means"
"that's what it's about"

and they say I'm crazy and they
go away and leave me dripping water
on the cobblestones and laughing and

there was a little girl in Khe Sanh
who knew the truth even though
she was blown to hell the next day
 
That's incredible katmeow. Simply incredible.

I think anyone who says they don't 'get' poetry should read it. In fact, I think I should probably turn this thread into a sticky now, so that as many people as possible get to read this poem.

Do you know who wrote it?
 
No, unfortunately the link I had is dead, and I didn't record the author when I copied it into my little file of poetry favourites :\
 
Wow... the poem of the unknown soldier.

I'm sure you would've already tried this, but I googled the title and one of the more unique lines, but came up with nothing.

This could be one hell of a mystery to solve. It might be worth posting it on other poetry forums to see if anyone has any clues. And there are probably a couple of poets I could ask who might be able to point us in the right direction.
 
www.litkicks.com

Great site. It has the history of all the poetry movements and even of individual people and you can submit your own and read others (hundreds upon thousands) and these people can seriously write. Its good stuff. Click on "Action Poetry" to read other peoples work and to submit yours.
 
Ok, I'm unsticking this for the time being, at least. Too many stickies at the moment.
 
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