The Cleave Poetry Webzine [ISSN: 1758-9223]

Archive for the ‘submission’ Category

The Concept of Pervasive Evil – by Ashley Bovan

In submission on September 24, 2009 at 12:37 pm
dissatisfaction sanctification
insatiableness spartan
saturnalian sagittarian
satyromania sacramentarian
spermatozoan sanitation
instantaneous safetyman
supernaturalness statistician
scatterbrained systematization
sabotaging establishmentarian
slaughterman samaritan
skateboarding statesmanship
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The Moviegoer by Dennis Kelly

In submission on September 20, 2009 at 10:44 pm

“There is a clock that never strikes.
There is a cathedral that goes down
and a lake that goes up.”
—Arthur Rimbaud, “Childhood,”
Illuminations

Once upon a time—I was a boy
Dead in the rosebushes—all summer
I had black eyes—and a yellow mop
Without parents—or a royal court

I was insolent—running along
Azure and verdure beaches—full of
Shipless waves—Greek, Slav, Celt
Shades in the balcony—of the Bijou

Actresses—gorgeous giantesses
Ida Lupino—up on the silver screen
Pilgrimages to—that other Land
Where princesses—were tyrannical

Sultanas—Hollywood queen bees
Strolling in the aisles—jewels glowing
In the dark—red velvet curtains in
The little theaters—like the Granada

Without boredom—those verdigris hours
Who needed a western sky—for sunsets?
With all the moviegoers—buried upright
In the balconies—overgrown with images

The curtains going up—fabulous elegance
Reels turning—sluice gates opening
The magic beasts—eternity of hot tears
The smell of popcorn—it made me blush

But now I am—the troubled scholar
Sitting in this dark armchair—brooding
Branches and rain—beating themselves
At the windows—of my quiet library

Even with Blue Ray—giant Flatscreens
I am just a pedestrian—dwarfed now in
Melancholy silence—abandoned child
On the jetty—left behind by high seas


(First published here).

Newborn by Lauren McBride

In submission on September 11, 2009 at 9:56 pm
So tired Of baby’s tears
Up late again I grow weary
Why do you cry, my little son? Are you hungry?
Are you wet? Too hot? Too cold?
Here, let Mama hold you It’s late. Please go to sleep.
He stares at me Then he coos
and sucks his thumb lays his head on my shoulder
relaxes in my arms, asleep his hair so soft against my cheek.
Good night, my little one Sweet dreams. I love you.

Lauren McBride’s work has appeared in the contest chapbook the Drabbler #14, the Aurorean, Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine, and online in various Ezines. She was chosen first runner-up in Crossed Genres’ flash fiction contest of July 2009 for her story, “Go-Green Grass”.

The New Tree by Dennis Kelly

In submission on August 18, 2009 at 10:24 pm


“I was planning a novel

in which two different

species on another world

needed to communicate,

one by light and image,

the other by sound & word”

—ptdiep


they cleaved me—back again

I don’t know how—but they did it

one into two—then two into one

the two that was—too much for me

the two that was one—troubling me

a unique collaboration—doubling me

the denouement of one world—dying

this exsanguination—of another world

all that was not me—my own doing undone

this strange doubling—this unique

collaboration of light & image—joining

sound and words—heads & tails

pairs of I Ching coins—yin yang

tossed in the air—thrown on a rug

split down the middle—joined as one

a pair of trigrams—magic hexagram

t’ai / peace—my laughing bellybutton

rubbing buddha’s belly—making a wish

for me it was—the new me

goodbye to all that—that wasn’t me

there in bed—new jonah and lazarus

contemplating—collaborating


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The Healing Tree by Dennis Kelly

In submission on August 14, 2009 at 10:27 pm


“The concept was already

within me, it was inevitable”

—ptdiep


they cleaved the tree—inside me

the murmuring of death—that was me

and I dreamed—of another world

it was my doppelganger—double trouble

and when I woke up—I wasn’t me

I was lost in—the house of pain

a mansion with—many dark rooms

many dark rooms—waiting for the other

teaching me—what I surely didn’t know

nor did I want to know—the hell inside

cut bones, split muscles—bloody nerves

it was all a big mistake—I said to myself

wishing I’d never—made the choice

it sounded so simple—just a valve job

a mere tune-up—and you’ll be brand new

but it wasn’t that easy—pain-killers don’t

kill the pain—pain had its own plans for me

and for a week—pain pinned me down

like an Indian swami—to a bed of nails

I screamed silently—beneath a moon

a thousand nights—Maria Ouspenskya werewolves

no longer a man—more a wounded animal

and they saved my life—for another day


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Seventy Years Before by Romella Kitchens

In submission on August 10, 2009 at 7:50 pm

Seventy Years Before
An earring falls from a pear tree the gift of moments is within this
Old man, what say you?
The earring was from a maiden a slight girl who climbed the tree
In what century was your longing?
She climbed to meet her lover. You were young then, too.
The earring was lost in a kiss. We cling to our “historical” limbs. Her skin was  sun-hued
She came the next day you left not to be found
Old man, was your fear in “more”?
A century later the earring falls a woman looks over a great wall
A woman clasps it  as if… To hold on is to know… yet, you gather yellow pears and…
Go home.

Romella Kitchens has had poetry published in Iodine Poetry Review, The California Quarterly, Chiron Review, Lilliput Review, Ship Of Fools and others. She has four published chapbooks. The latest chapbook was published by Pudding House Press in April of 2009 and is titled: “The Red Covered Bridge.”


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Down by the Lake – by Ashley Bovan

In submission on August 8, 2009 at 12:20 am
Under a nearby weeping willow a flock of geese pad and poke
a push-chair rattles along Alice wipes mud from an off-green park bench
two bedlam kids squawking then she rests
Vicious seagulls hunt for sandwich fragments Exhaust fumes, and hums and grinds, from the morning motor-rush waft over
Alice fidgets and then heads off to the rose gardens a discarded sheet of kitchen roll sticks to her shoe
The flowers sway like nodding dogs in the backs of cars She listens to echoing Greensleeves again and again piping out from the ice cream van over on the promenade
Up-wind an old boy fires up his acrid briar it’s time to move on
She takes the tarmac path around and up to the rockery tasting the hint of salt blown in from the bay A brittle crisp packet rattles, trapped in an exclamation-mark-like tree
She wanders through the patterns of rocks Her arms droop by her side
and she catches her hand on a clump of nettles Reluctantly, she prepares herself for the long walk home

Ashley Bovan lives and writes in Cardiff and starts studying for an MA

in Creative Writing at Lancaster University in October 2009.

His website is www.ashley-bovan.co.uk

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In Such a Place as This, by Jessica Lafortune

In submission on August 7, 2009 at 11:51 pm

even in this godforsaken place
there is stirring evidence of life, like
the frog who came just after the rain
and remains still clinging to the glass
the lizards beating a path to safety
rustling in the grass outside my door
the squirrels giving chase
playing tag recklessly
in the street irrespective of cars
and then there is me alive, barely
running in place depending on the day


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Carbon River Valley by Dennis Kelly

In submission on August 2, 2009 at 11:38 pm


The way the light—slants downward
Northward over—the mountain range
The escarpments—the forested ridges
A winter light—low over the river

Mostly we were there—during summers
Parking the car—on the road leading into
The rainforest—on the northern side of
Mt. Rainier—covered with fir and cedars

Ten years ago—we hiked across ancient
Riverbeds of smooth—rounded boulders
And white-bleached stones—and rocks
To get to Chenuis Falls—on the other side

Standing in the middle—between the two
Sides of a long swath of—glacial debris
Looking up at the ancient—granite towers
From down below—terminal moraine awe

One could hear the river—the mountains
Communing—with each other like Forces
In the I Ching—caught up in hexagramic
Flow of huge spaces—both old and new

Pausing for a cold beer—in the shadow of
Some giant boulder—leaning back and
Looking up at it all—our time together
So brief and fine—like a snapshot


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Lunatic by Jessica Lafortune

In submission on May 19, 2009 at 10:30 pm
driving on empty
aimlessly restless
crazy as the full moon
shadowing reflecting
all that I pass
is meaningless
temporal vanity
like a lunatic in the land of
midnight sun
I am alone
vanishing in depravity


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