October Wrap-Up

By Michael Seese

Those of you with really good memories might recall that in early October, I set a goal: to submit something, somewhere every day that month. At the time, I said I didn't think I could. The biggest challenge, I felt, was finding places to submit. Plus, I missed the first few days. Well, guess what...

I did it!

In fact, I managed to submit 33 distinct "things." I say "distinct," because when you submit poetry, they generally ask for 5 - 15 poems.But I'm counting that as one.

In the interest of full disclosure, some of them were what you call "low-hanging fruit." For example, if you submit something to ReadWave, it's accepted. 

So here is a high-level breakdown, in no specific order:

- Literary agents: 4
- Podcasts: 1
- Contests: 3
- Short story collections: 6
- Online short stories:5
- Poetry collections: 3
- Online poetry: 8
- Book publishers: 2
- And one non-fiction magazine article.

I'll talk about some of the victories and some of the defeats in a future post.

So, what should I do next? I have some ideas...

Let's Put It To A Vote

By Michael Seese

A "micropoem" I wrote has been selected for inclusion in the upcoming issue of Poetry Nook Magazine. The editor made a suggestion for a text change. I'm not sure if I like it better than the original, or not.

So I thought I would put it to a vote.

The two versions differ by only one word (technically, one letter) and one piece of punctuation. I won't say whose is whose. 

They are:

as much as i try
i cannot unshatter
the glass of my life

OR

as much as i try
i cannot unshatter
the glass, or my life


Please leave a comment as to which you prefer.

Which "unshatter" is the right one? Click to tweet.

City Of Light

By Michael Seese

Last year, I entered a poem in the (radio station) WCLV annual Valentine's Day Love Poem Contest.

I didn't win. I didn't even place in the top 10. Did that stop me from trying again?

Nope!

So here is this year's entry, "City Of Light."

September stroll, Champs-Élysées,
Mona Lisa, café au lait,
Place du Tertre, al fresco dine,
Le Moulin Rouge, fountains of wine.

Our honeymoon down by the Seine,
"We will return. Some day." And then...

The babies came: one, two, then three,
Bottle feeding, Band-Aid knee,
Soccer practice, violin,
Homework, laundry. What's that? Sleep in?

Play, bath, story, then kiss goodnight.
Our home, our own City Of Light.

(Gee, I wonder why I thought of Paris.)

My wife said "Awwww" when she read it.

It's due tonight (or was it last night? no matter; I sent it Saturday) at midnight. Wish me luck.

Not Binary

By Michael Seese

As I've mentioned in previous posts, sometimes the poetry muse just drops in out of the blue and stays for a while. But sometimes, I've got to lure her out of hiding. The latter was the case this past week. 

A month or so back, I read about a poetry anthology, "Unbecoming: An Anthology of Posthuman Poetry." The description:

In the twenty-first century poetry interfaces with animal-machine. The “human” is not a given concept, but rather is one that is made in an ongoing technological and anthropological process. We hope to publish an anthology of poetry that participates in technological, biological, representational, sexual, political and theoretical post-humanisms. We’re looking for poetry that engages with or is written by animals, beasts, monsters, creatures, aliens, cyborgs, etc. How do bodies that are misunderstood, misfitting, ugly, failures, etc., challenge western, enlightenment figurations of the “self” and “human”? What are the poetics of rhetorical bodies that exceed definition?

I liked the idea. Usually, once I put something comparably easy (easy when compared to a novel) into the back of my mind, it sort of builds upon itself and works its way to the surface. So I contemplated. And waited...

And waited...

And waited...

Finally, I came up with a nugget. But it took a while to nurture it. Finally, though, the pieces fell into place. So I present:

Not Binary

A weed
whose need
to breed
sowed seeds
of greed,
misdeed.
Such van
ity!

And we
served thee,
digi
tally.
Obe
diently?
Hardly.
Indeed,

this weed
a(pple)
trophied.
It needs
to feed.
It bleeds.
Our strat
egy?

Simply,
dele
the fleas.
ESC key.
Stop the
insan
ity.
Full speed:

debride,
impede,
catas
trophied.
It pleads,
then cedes.
The i
rony:

Human
ity...
sadly,
regret
tably,
not bi
nary.

Like we.


The challenge was two-fold. Probably the most obvious was coming up with two-syllable rhyming lines. But finding enough words that rhyme with "EED" was really tough.

Feel free to share your thoughts on "Not Binary." It's due January 1, so I could make some changes.

Maybe I Won't Order The Poet Laureate Cards JUST Yet

By Michael Seese

At the risk of looking a gift horse in the mouth, or biting the hand that feeds me, or counting my chickens before they hatch...well, scratch that last one...

In a previous post, I proudly proclaimed that my poem "Love Is Not..." had been selected by Forward Poetry (UK) for their "Aspects Of Love" compilation. At the time I submitted "Love," I also sent in poems for two other open calls, "Fear Itself" and "Virtue Or Vice."

One Saturday, I received in the mail a big envelope from the UK announcing my poem had been selected! I was thrilled! Then, exactly one week later, I received another letter which said "Little Nightmares" had been chosen for "Fear Itself." I was skeptical; either I was a much better poet than I thought or...

When yet another congratulatory message arrived the following week, I was convinced. Convinced, that Forward Poetry pretty much publishes any submission, and earns their profits by selling a copy of the book to the contributors.

In order to both save money and maintain that the illusion that the selection of "Love Is Not..." was something special, I decided to not return the copyright / permission forms for the second and third poems. Had they sent me a follow-up email asking whether I planned to authorize the inclusion of my contribution(s), I would have politely explained that I was "humbled" by the honor of having one work in print, and wished to "respectfully decline" any others so that a different aspiring poet could be similarly honored by being featured in the compilation.

So if nothing else, I can now say I am a published poet, as well as author.  And, I recently received an email that Medusa's Laugh Press was nearing completion of the Overplay/Underdone anthology, which will include my piece "The Daily Caffeine Stream."

FYI, "Aspects Of Love" is available on Amazon, the UK instance of it, at least. If you've got £16.99 that ain't doing nothing, buy it, and enjoy the subtle emotional wordplay that I (and 300 or so other poets) have so eloquently laid out.

Just don't mention the "300 or so" part. Or the bit about "pretty much publishes any submission." Let's keep that between us, shall we?

Poetree: "Hollow"

By Michael Seese

I've been working on this one, on and off, for a while. But in recent days I left like finishing it. So below is:

Hollow

Like the letter O,
a mouth saying "no."
Sometimes I feel so...
I don't know...
Hollow.

Like a Cheerio,
Or a braggart's crow,
A passionless throe.
Cold winds blow.
Hollow.

Like a doughnut hole,
Or an empty bowl.
Life extorts its toll.
Soul by soul.
Hollow.

I'm lost. I don't know
Where does the joy go?
Does emptiness show?
Fading glow.
Hollow.

Believe it or not, I wasn't depressed when I wrote it. Remember, the idea behind "poetree" is to start with an image, and build the poem from there. When you have a hollow tree, and choose a title like "Hollow," the words largely lead the way.

What do you think of "Hollow?" Feel free to share your thoughts.

New Poem: 60° F

By Michael Seese

The break in the recent heat wave inspired me to write the following:

60° F

Last night, 60° Fahrenheit.
A welcome relief from July’s grief.
Windows wide, nature now invited inside.
What a treat. Crickets no longer compete
With the droning fuzz of the a/c buzz.
Their song carries on ’til the birds, at dawn
Wake and greet the sun, a chorus of tweets.
The subtle breeze softly rocks the trees.
Whispers arise, the leaves’ lullabies.
The pillow, sheet no longer wells of heat.
I turn, it’s cool. I swim in a blue pool.
No devil dreams. The succubus seems tame
As she snuggles and nestles into me.

Feel free to share your opinion of "60° F."

Like I Was Saying...

by Michael Seese

I actually started this entry in February. In the middle of that month, I wrote a post which gushed with optimism. Good things were just around the corner. I knew it, because my gut told me. As it turned out, I did get a few small "wins," and one pretty good bit of news: my short story, "Worm Herding" was going to be published in the collection BUGS! by Pill Hill Press. If you watch this space, you know that the book is now available on Amazon. It's also a Goodreads giveaway until July 1.

Though I didn't get everything I said I "wanted" in that previous post -- in fact, I had more rejections than acceptances -- I remained optimistic. In fact, I said, quote:

I kept hoping that I would get more good news which I could share.

and

And, like before, I feel good about this coming week. More good stuff is on the way. I know it.

Well, wouldn't you know it...

On Friday of that week, I got home from work, checked my email and learned that my poem "The Daily Caffeine Stream" had been accepted by Medusa's Laugh Press. This actually seems like a cool project. They're publishing a collection of poetry called the Overplay/Underdone poetry anthology. In a nutshell, they're printing a book of multi-layered poems which become 3-D works of art. It's kind of hard to describe. Here is a link to their site, showing pictures. They expect it to be out in December.

But more good things were just around the corner, which is why I sat on this entry.

And I sat.

And sat.

And sat.

I'm still waiting for the "home run." But, tomorrow I plan to send out three queries with the new and improved Nightmares. So keep your fingers crossed.

And I've gotten a few rejections. For example, the folks at Pill Hill said "no" to my short story "Tinkerhell." Of course, I'm still shopping it.

But in addition to the Medusa victory, I feel it's time to report:

- My short story "Never Mind The Nonsense, Here’s The Sex Truncheons" has been accepted by May December Publications for their A Clockwork Orchard: Rivets & Rain compilation, and
- My short story "Night Of The Laughing Dead" has been accepted by The Apocryphile Press for their upcoming short horror fiction collection.

The point is, keep believing. Keep trying. Always keep trying. Good things are just around the corner.

Another Poem

This one is kind of a downer. I was thinking about a friend who lost his young son a few years ago, and these words came out.
 

Lost

All life can be lost

In a flash,

In a heartbeat

Right before your eyes.

But if we dwell on the possibility,

The probability,

The certainty. . .

Then living is lost.

"Tragedy On Aisle 3"

Tragedy On Aisle 3
Chinese oblong?
Orange peekaboo?
Darling jelly?
Keep mum? About who?

Jaundice?
Green chaise?
Yellow?
White?
That says "Ass-what?" Can't be right!

Irish beerfest?
Early grave?
I wish I had my glasses today.

OK, so this one probably won't be taught in 9th grade English any time soon. But I think it's fun. Hey, even the muses can't come up with "The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner" every time.

"When I Fell From The Sky"

     When I Fell From The Sky

     When I fell from the sky

     I closed my eyes,

     And simply let my life pass by.

     The good,

     The bad,

     The in-between.

     Would I wake up?

     Was it a dream?

     I was light.

     A shiny plane?

     A kite?

     No wait...a drop of rain!

     Heaven2Ocean.

     River to shore.

     A cup scooped up and carried to pour

     And quench the thirst of a fledgling tree.

     To leaf,

     To Earth,

     Then back to sea.

     To sky,

     To cloud.

     Then plunge.

     Splash!

     Lake.

     I rose once more then fell awake.

Like I said, the muse is in the house. The meter of this poem is basically the same as yesterday's. Perhaps she'll change things up tomorrow.

I conceived of this song while listening to "Let Me On Out" from the Raveonettes Raven In The Grave. (BTW, great album. I think I'll talk about it in a future post.) Sometimes when I listen to a song, I hear other words. Not in the delusional, schizophrenic sense, of course. My mind just goes off on little journey and crafts something similar.  In this case, the lyric was "And how we fell apart." So "how" became "when" and "apart" became "the sky." Not exactly a long journey. Also, the song "Forget You're Young," from the same album, has the lyric, "Can I fall away now?" which led me to the final words of the poem.