I don’t possess the answers, but Daniel Paul Marshall certainly has the questions!
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Tag Archives: creative writing
Interview Up at The Quiet Letter
The Quiet Letter, a platform dedicated to contemporary literature, is based in India and operates from a small provincial town. Editor Pawan N. Hira recently interviewed me. The poetry world is indeed great and small, global and local.
Poem Up At The Pangolin Review
My poem “No One Knows” is live at The Pangolin Review, an interesting little journal out of Mauritius. You’ll have to scroll down to find my piece.
And if you don’t know what a pangolin is, picture an armadillo with scales and the ability to emit a foul odor reminiscent of a skunk.
I Must Be Doing Something Right, Somewhere, Sometime, Maybe?
Since New Year’s Day, 24 publications have turned down my writing. Before that, I received ten rejections in December, which only tied my sixth worst monthly total for 2017! So yeah, I know the sting of rejection. Mostly it resembles a mosquito’s bite – a bit annoying, it disappears quickly. But one will occasionally strike like a scorpion – WHAM – and it swells and throbs for a while and I wonder why the hell I continue dallying with this odd thing we call poetry. I suppose it’s enough that from time to time a complete stranger will respond kindly, or an editor will ask to see a few pieces for consideration. Or a few poems get published in print…
My poetry has appeared in these print publications over the past year. Although much of my writing is published online, I’m still enamored with print. Something about the smell, the feel of paper. Ah, bliss.
And why do I continue writing? It’s the doing of it, the process. That is what really matters.
Some Dogs Are Larger Than Others
Some Dogs are Larger Than Others
How he stares
at you,
relentless
in his desire,
offering
belly to scratch
and head to pet
just when you most
need them,
even if
you don’t know it,
then curling
against you, saying
in the language
of warmth and fur,
this, just this.
* * *
“Some Dogs are Larger Than Others” first appeared here in January 2017.
Hail
Hail
My hands know the sadness of rock,
of unfinished lines and rough
sides tapering to sharpness.
The shape of solitude, turning.
Now the stones fall as water,
a woman lets down her hair
and laughter chokes through silence.
Into this dream I ascend.
“Hail” first appeared here in September 2016, and is included in Indra’s Net: An International Anthology of Poetry in Aid of The Book Bus.
All profits from this anthology published by Bennison Books will go to The Book Bus, a charity which aims to improve child literacy rates in Africa, Asia and South America by providing children with books and the inspiration to read them.
Available at Amazon (UK) and Amazon (US)
Night Smoke
Night Smoke
Incomplete, it rises
only to dissipate
like the griefs we shape,
somehow unnoticed,
beyond reach but felt.
Last night’s moon, the glance.
Forgotten stars, a withheld
kiss, words we never formed.
How difficult to be lost.
So easy to remain unseen.
* * *
“Night Smoke” last appeared here in June 2016.
BUY MY BOOK, OR THE CHIHUAHUA GETS
(Pardon the interruption. The book in question is I Have a Bird to Whistle (7 Palinodes), published by Luminous Press, and available here to U.S. residents for $7.50, shipping included. Non-U.S. purchasers can order it directly from me by emailing aBirdtoWhistle@yahoo.com.)
…A BELLY RUB!
WHAT? YOU WERE EXPECTING SOMETHING ELSE?
Dobie’s Desk
Dobie’s Desk
Sitting at this desk, I wonder
whose words will emerge
from the stained wood,
its whorls and cracked surface
detailing a specific language
of the inert and precious.
Earlier I rapped the cistern
to verify water level,
and a week ago startled
a cottonmouth sunning its lengthy
self at the crossing. The door
just blew open, perhaps,
or a ghost wished to offer its
voice, neither malice
nor approval imbedded
in the gesture. History
shadows me despite my best
efforts. I walk, drink water,
write, think of friends left
behind or gone ahead,
reading between the grains
and dark spaces, looking for rain
in the blue, for light and benediction
and the secret poetry of furniture.
Your Armpits Smell Like Heaven
Your Armpits Smell Like Heaven
But your breath could melt a glacier at three
miles, she says, and then we might consider
the dirt under your nails, the way you slur
your sibilants, and how you seldom see
the cracked eggs in a carton, a downed tree
branch in front of you, the ripened blister
of paint in the bedroom, or your sister
lying drunk on the floor in her own pee.
Back to your armpits. Do you realize
we could bottle that aroma and make
a fortune? I inhale it and forgive
your many faults. The odor provokes sighs
and tingles, blushes I could never fake.
Ain’t love grand? Elevate those arms. Let’s live!
Never in my wildest dreams did I envision writing a poem about armpits. But the August 2015 Tupelo Press 30-30 challenge, and Plain Jane, the title sponsor, provided that opportunity. This first appeared here in April 2016, and was subsequently published in Algebra of Owls. Many thanks to editor Paul Vaughan for taking it.
O at the Edges 