Cause Black girl wouldn't need to be magical anymore
and finally Black girl can just be Black girl
and call herself enough.
via Dark Skin Women
Original art image found here.
August 2017 Poetry Contest Winners: Barber, Räihä, Hall
BY LISA MARIE BASILE
“Today you are there like any other emptiness. — Freke Räihä”
Introducing Luna Luna's three August 2017 flash poetry contest winners, Freke Räihä, Cornelia Barber and Erin Marie Hall.
I loved their poems because they all approached the idea of death from unique standpoints—their language was crisp, and surprising, and heartbreaking. I could feel the grief. I am so grateful to be publishing this work.
I took each of the images from sacred places, places where I had meditated on life and death, places that are of significance in my own life. With a topic such as death, and with work so vulnerable, I thought it was important to make sure the presentation came, all around, from a place of intent.
Please share the images and talk about the poems.
15 Presses & Journals That Will Make You Weep With Pleasure
BY LISA MARIE BASILE
I'm sure plenty of you know a few of these, but allow me, for those who might not, to introduce and love on the presses that are currently sending me into literary-body-psychic overdrive. What does this actually mean? It means I've been devouring their books for some time or that I've discovered their new work, or am re-reading their older work and losing my mind over it again and again. I believe that these presses and journals are doing beautiful, unique things, and I love the voices and work they're putting out there. To blood and beauty!
If you could press your hand against my chest, you would feel my heart fluttering. Wakefield Press is one of my new favorites, and it should be yours, too. Devoted to 'overlooked gems' in translation, literary oddities, and elegant packaging (oh god they are so good to us), this press is bringing immense beauty to the literary landscape.
I just got my hands on:
Spells by Michel de Ghelderode
Murder Most Serene by Gabrielle Wittkop
The Cathedral of Mist by Paul Willems
2. Siren Songs
Joanna C. Valente, managing editor here at Luna Luna, runs an imprint on Civil Coping Mechanisms—and they're publishing Devin Kelly, Cooper Wilhelm, Jayy Dodd, and Omatara James. Literally am waiting on the edge of my fucking seat. The press seeks work by queer, trans, nonbinary, women and people of color.
OK. So Inside the Castle runs a residency in October called Castle Freak. Do you feel that? That's me having an orgasm. This press is deliciously dark and strange, and everyone should check out their dedication to literature that does more. They publish 'difficult poetry and prose poetry.' Wouldst thou pick me up from the floor?
I just discovered this gem—they publish women artists and writers, and the magazine itself is filled with unique, beautiful work. It feels like you're flipping pages as you move through the beautiful site.
Full disclosure: I'm in a full-on romantic relationship with this press and journal. They might not know it, but I do. They've always been my go-to for good reading, they publish superb books, and they even chose my manuscript Nympholepsy as a finalist in their 2017 book awards. Their work is tight, well-crafted, and aesthetically inclined.
6. Occulum
Just click click click and indulge in the beauty. Their about page says, "Unreliable sources have claimed that OCCULUM is David Lynch’s favorite lit journal. This in turn, is also unreliable." Which, yes, please. They're ok with 'semi-normies' (lol no one here) but they publish speculative fiction and 'species' of poetry. Their peculiarities are why I dearly love them.
7. Monstering
As someone with a chronic illness, I love the fact that Monstering Mag makes a space for discussions around the body, disabled experiences, nombinary voices, and illness. Their work is vulnerable, necessary, and thoughtful.
RELATED: 6 Online Lit Mags For Ladies Who Love Creepy Poems
8. Spork Press
Run by Richard Siken (I know he's your favorite, too), this lit journal and press puts out some fantastic work. Each issue is like a mini car crash you can't look away from. The work is always tight as fuck.
9. Paragraphiti
Just discovered their 'Romanian poet' issue, and I'm in love. It's so important that we are treated to translated work, and I'm so glad to see journals like this one do the heavy lifting.
10. Action Books
One of my favorite all-time presses, Action Books makes books that make me weep and then go write books that make other people weep. And repeat. There isn't a single solitary book in their catalogue that won't break your heart and threaten your ideas of the literary status quo. You will realize what you've been missing. You will drown in it. The work is transcendent of what we know and understand and accept.
With their focus on the radical and mystical, this queer collective produces books that are loud and heavy in your hands. And always beautiful. Also, they've got a "west coast lean," which, to a New Yorker, means there's a hazy intoxicating palm tree ocean spray magic to it all. Their books also LOOK delicious. And, they focus on giving a voice to identities often excluded from the conversation.
12. Grimoire
Grimoire, like Luna Luna, makes a space for the occult alongside their literary selections. The work is stellar, and their little spell-treats and seances are especially to die for. I love this journal and can't wait to keep reading each new issue.
13. Dreginald
So apparently I was late to the party with Dreginald. Just discovered how awesome they are, and I am blown away. Their selections are carefully crafted, insanely unique, and they prick at you—leaving you feeling the wound long after you've left the site. Also, DREGINALD. Just say it.
Bonus Round: new journals
14. Bad Pony
This magazine is brandy-new, insanely beautiful, and not yet live. Their mission says, "We are a very bad pony. Maybe we have always been that way. Maybe we had a particularly bad childhood where instead of hay or grass, we were fed a large amount of Starburst," which has done me in. I am ready for this bad bad pony.
Our very own Nadia is launching her own literary magazine this Friday—and we can't wait. Nadia's eye for beautiful, audacious work helps shape Luna Luna, so I can't wait for her dreamy creation.
Lisa Marie Basile is an editor, writer and poet living in NYC. She is the founding editor-in-chief of Luna Luna Magazine and the author of APOCRYPHAL (Noctuary Press, 2014), as well as a few chapbooks: Andalucia (Poetry Society of New York), War/Lock (Hyacinth Girl Press), and Triste (Dancing Girl Press). Her bookNYMPHOLEPSY (co-authored with poet Alyssa Morhardt-Goldstein), was a finalist in the 2017 Tarpaulin Sky Book Awards. She is working on her first poetic fiction novella, to be released by Clash Books/Clash Media.
Daniel Vazquez
Second Goodbye, Non Fiction by Ron Gibson, Jr.
With other emergency room patients watching, I retched, filling and overfilling the tray. A janitor was sent for to mop up around my feet. The nurse brought over two trays this time, but it was the same story: I retched, filled, then overfilled them. The nurse and the janitor's body language seemed to indicate (at least to me) they were growing increasingly alarmed at the volume I was spewing.
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For Babes Who Kiss Wet On First Meeting Especially Liana
BY LAURA MARIE MARCIANO
A persistent dry spell
no wet
for two months mollycoddle
He was like a musician and all like had a music video
Orange leaves on window or asking
Will you meet me in the park
and wake with grass stains on lips
He texts and I texted
something about legs being fine as hell
The prophet suggested that bee saving was better than dick picks
sent me enough so many - enough to fill a whole room
traveling in my pocket for three weeks like a dead ass prayer
And this empty prescription bottle like a fish that saved me
in empty empty water
I met you in the park first fucked on knees from behind
told to be quieter when I screamed through green
and grey light
ambient city nature buzz and cool spit off small but plump mouth watched your pleasure twisted face below me
It was the best sex I had in three years Or some shit
but then you came
got up and asked me if I always kissed men that passionately when
I first met them when i first allowed them to stretch my adidas track pants off in the summer suss garden
shame or
near home
Said if you knew I had a car you would have made me drive you
I don't know what a prayer is but Mary I do know how to bend on my knees for 15 hot minutes and repent
I asked all my girlfriends to text bomb you when you ghosted
I asked Solange to stop letting you perform in her show
I asked the whatever to tell your girlfriend about your habits
I just wish for the culture
sunflower seed stuck in teeth pretending not to weep into brown
leather seats
I just wish
This could be different or
I asked for Ana that we all know she was an actual victim of hot dead boys
#alreadydead
What did I expect - perpetuating rape culture with my wet pussy in your fuckboi hands way after bedtime for
girls who don't kiss as passionately when they first meet anyway
ever
they never Quazz
your name? is that your name I swear those other girls
they never do that
Laura Marie Marciano is a poet, performer, educator and media artist. She is the founder of gemstone readings and the author of Mall Brat ( CCM 2016). She received her MFA from Brooklyn College and is a PhD candidate at URI. She works as the managing editor of Barrow Street Press. She lives on the Internet.
Daniel von Appen
Poetry by Janice Lobo Sapigao
Janice Lobo Sapigao is a daughter of Filipina/o immigrants. She is the author of like a solid to a shadow, forthcoming from Timeless, Infinite Light, and microchips for millions (Philippine American Writers and Artists, Inc. 2016). She is a VONA/Voices Fellow and was awarded a Manuel G. Flores Prize, PAWA Scholarship to the Kundiman Poetry Retreat. For more info, please visit: janicewrites.com
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Girlhood Ramblings
The way the last words spoken at a sleepover hang in the darkness. How it feels to wake up first. How your sleeping bag feels itchy-hot in the morning. How your insides feels itchy-hot, too. How your friends breathe in their sleep. Their messy hair. How the morning light is so orange-pretty you could cry.
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Ren Hang
Fiction By Ellen Chai: Misfit
"Misfit" is one of Lidia Yuknavitch’s favorite words. In her beautifully harrowing, unabashedly celebratory TED talk, she says that she likes the word because it’s so literal: "it’s a person who sort of missed fitting in. Or a person who fits in badly." The weight of her past, of her string of conventionally framed failures (e.g., reeling from the effects of growing up in an abusive household, having two failed marriages, flunking out of college twice, her daughter dying the day she was born) could be assembled, isolated, symbolically deployed with one word: "misfit."
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Rachel Lauren Photography
Fiction by Lydia A. Cyrus: Lycanthropy in Appalachia
I am a werewolf of sorts: awakened at night by a hunger and a desire to roam. I have spent most every night in the rain, snow, or just plain quiet walking alone in the dark. In Appalachia, we don’t talk about lycanthropy: we don’t talk about the crossing of identities where wolf meets woman. And yet, the people here will talk about me—will talk about the way I walk through the night and my darkness—and they will call it by any other name, any other affliction.
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3 Poetry Books With Strong Narrators That Are So Necessary Right Now
Here are some books that stole my heart and mind recently (and still haven't given them back):
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A Brief History of Your Bathroom Mirror
You start with water. The stream ripples your skin with its current, warps your eyes, leaves you colorless. Water leaves you colorless. Motionless water is better, you discover. A puddle, a lake, a shallow bowl. You obsess over your reflection—the curve of your jaw, the speckles on your cheeks you never knew existed. You sneak glances at yourself in the black pits of someone else’s eyes, the tiny round distortion, the tiny colorless you. These are your first mirrors—the water like a cup of liquid glass, the spheres that sit in your lover’s skull like two black moons.
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Diagnóstico de cáncer: Poetry by Marjorie Maddox
Sage Graduate Fellow of Cornell University (MFA) and Professor of English and Creative Writing at Lock Haven University, Marjorie Maddox has published eleven collections
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L'uomo Vogue
What Being a Caulbearer Means to Me
Finding out that I was born with the caul was like having an epiphany. I didn’t know exactly what it was as I sat in the passenger seat talking about Romanian werewolves and Frankenstein teenage girls with my mom that day, but I knew it explained something about me. It made me feel validated.
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3 Poems by Alexandra Naughton — My Posey Taste Like: The Paradise Lost Edition
ALEXANDRA NAUGHTON
Alexandra Naughton's My Posey Taste Like: The Paradise Lost Edition (Bottlecap Press, 2017) includes poems from the original, highly-acclaimed collection My Posey Taste Like (Bottlecap Press, 2015) plus ten new poems. Watch this video.
maybe i don’t deserve it but i’m tired. i would like to just stop. i don’t really know what that means and i also feel the exact opposite. like i would just like to go. because maybe i don’t deserve it. so i go any where. i like feeling night time on my skin wandering but going some where it doesn’t matter why any thing can be an adventure when you let it and i let it, and it pulls me forward by invisible strings keeping the radio perfect to keep the momentum just right and i’m not even thinking any more just being part of an other body an other calling an other way to worship. and then when it feels right to stop. and then curling up to rest.
**
peeing in your shower when you’re not looking and drowning in self importance. later you’re underlining how little I mean to you, tracing fingers back and forth in the carpeting for emphasis. i’m propped up on pillows and yawning like i’ve waited for this moment all weekend. our similarities can only go so far, sing so much harmony. the difference between a poem and just something you wrote is just not saying something completely fucking ordinary, it’s how you say it too.
**
my posey taste like soiled tablecloths in a hamper heap. paradise lost or a parasite, lost. let the puppy lick your hand and quit being such a killjoy. touching myself in the mirror like this is the best i can do. i’m not wasting time, i’m not looking for any thing except what i can devour. straddling you on an apartment building rooftop watching the sun go down and drinking from cold glasses. i will take apart your face to find the morsels i like most, taking big bites from the sides like a dad with his kid’s ice cream cone because it’s melting. this is what love is, you say, peeling back my sweaty spousebeater to scream into my skin, my stains. every thing you do i just absorb you. staying so damn quit it makes you madder and i just take you in.
Alexandra Naughton is editor in chief of @baipress in California. Her first novel, American Mary, was published by Civil Coping Mechanisms in March 2016 . She’s a Libra. Follow her on twitter: @thetsaritsa
Tania Shcheglova
Poetry by Sarah Nichols
The Black Dahlia Dreams of Blade Runner
Last night, I dreamed of
Los Angeles.
Not as it was, when I
died. The promise and
sun of it.
I dreamed of its
now, a neon smear.
The city of
ghosts.
My voice in
its moving darkness,
saying
I’ve seen things you people
wouldn’t believe.
Sources: Ellroy, James. The Black Dahlia. New York: Mysterious Press, 1987; Hampton Fancher and David Peoples, Blade Runner screenplay, 1981.
Bloodline
My bloodline ends in
silence.
I circle back,
before my myth.
Slow now,
like conjuring a
storm.
Still in my descent,
a fury
beckoning.
I stir now,
watchful.
Someone’s out there.
Sources: Ellroy, James. The Black Dahlia. New York: Mysterious Press, 1987. Print, and James Ellroy, “My Mother and the Dahlia,” Virginia Quarterly Review, 82/3 (2006). N. pag. vqr online, Virginia Quarterly Review 19 June 2006. Web.
Dresses, Jewelry, Food
I wanted to be ready.
No one tells you what to
pack for the trip.
I met Cleopatra in
the underworld, and
she told me that
none of it
(dresses, jewelry, food)
matters down here.
Time cures everyone,
she says.
Whatever you thought
you wanted
dies or
goes away.
People worship you or
forget.
No one knows
that
until
they arrive.
Source: Ellroy, James. The Black Dahlia. New York: Mysterious Press, 1987. Print.
Sarah Nichols lives and writes in Connecticut. She is the author of four chapbooks, including Dreamland for Keeps (Porkbelly Press, forthcoming, 2018) and She May Be a Saint (Hermeneutic Chaos Press, 2016). Her poems and essays have also appeared in Thirteen Myna Birds, The Ekphrastic Review, Calamus, and The RS 500.