#Tinderbox poetry full#

I meant for the dream to end, but not while I was inside it. I would like to place it in a den of Yunnan lake newts and let their red spines outshine my blood, though everything is already shining from the edges in and closing the doors behind it. I would like to place it in a cooler body. My cells rumble beneath the plod of the Xenoceratops, which honestly seems too big to have vanished. I don’t know how an entire forest has sprouted inside my lungs, but I have been cooperative, and the leaves of the woolly-stalked begonia have been so gentle. My hips are mottled by the Vegas Valley leopard frog. What kind of sponge is this dream, that it can soak up so much time? What happens when it’s squeezed? My knees have become upland for the upland moa. O Tasmanian tiger, not even one hundred years gone. O night soft as sea mink, everything’s going to be fine.

I too had thought myself unassailable, buoyant with time. I recognize the Rodrigues night heron by its unwary amble. The space between the stars is startlesome as the eyes of the Queen of Sheba’s gazelle.

#Tinderbox poetry full#

Extinct means extinguish means quench, but what mouth is so thirsty for our deadness? What could hold the Navassa curly-tailed lizard as it curls its tail in alarm? What could hold ten million species? The Old English bulldog, for example, or the aquarium full of phantom shiners gleaming like the northern lights. Long enough to erase the large sloth lemur and the Mariana mallard and eighty-three percent of everything else. Most people die within a day of waking from this dream, but if life on Earth were a day, we have only been awake for one minute and fifteen seconds of it. In the forested canyons of being dead, they can finally be answered. I’ve heard that most people die within one day of having a dream like this, in which I am packing my suitcase full of Kaua‘i ‘ō‘ō mating calls. I hadn’t thought to see the Japanese sea lion again, or for the first time. The Indefatigable Galápagos mouse is here, which seems unlikely as anything. George MacDonald, a Scottish author and Christ ian minister, wrote various poems, sermo ns, and. Essay 2- Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe and the Princess and the Goblin Assignment 1 vs2. I have followed the speckled trail of Himalayan quail feathers and now I am on a beach that is also a mountain that is also, somehow, the scrubby backyard of my childhood home. Essay 1 - Why Hans Christian Andersons Tinderbox follows tradition folk story telling. The golden toad clambers across the cloud forest of my face. Because the dream is so dead, there is no difference between moss and my breath. The eelgrass limpet could easily be mistaken for a mountain pebble, the forkshell for a shelf fungus. Because the dream is so dead, there is no difference between the land and the sea. The cryptic treehunter carries a dwarf mantis orangely into a tree. The bluebuck lowers its blue face into them. Appalachian yellow asphodel, the dream says, and its sunny stars shine, exuberant and dead and loudly so. Or the deadness has been a dimple on the dreamscape: a little sweet, a little fermented, a little vegetal. They have always been a little dead, but only around the edges. We’ll read again for this genre next summer, and we’ll read for poetry collections in the winter.Lately, my dreams have been more dead than usual. :: Please only submit one manuscript during this reading period. These readers can help see something I might have originally missed and allow for a second closer look. :: I will read every manuscript, and I will also include a team of smart volunteer readers. We don’t want to keep your book in a holding pattern. We don’t plan to sit on manuscripts long, but we do know placing a book is a long and difficult process. :: We encourage you to simultaneously submit. :: There are no page limits, though do know we aren’t a chapbook publisher. :: Publication will come with a standard contract. :: Because this is an open reading period, it is not guaranteed that we will publish anything from these submissions it also could mean more than one manuscript will be selected for publication. You can include any personal information on the ms. We have a fee-free option the first week of our reading period. Rogers has work published or forthcoming in Mississippi Review, Vinyl Poetry and Prose, The Offing, Obsidian: Literature & Arts in the African Diaspora, and Tinderbox Poetry her work has been anthologized in The BreakBeat Poets: Black Girl Magic and Best of the Net. The donation is important to us to be able to establish print runs, but we know what it’s like to not be able to pony up the fee for contests. Brittany Rogers is a poet, mother, educator, and Detroiter. There is no formal reading fee, though you’ve happened upon the page that allows for donations.