The scrying mirror
Tag: Poetry
Decorated with ideographs
This post is part of my book-long erasure poetry and collage project on Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book.
My work on the cover of Free Verse Revolution!
What an amazing thing to happen! My photomontage has made the cover of the upcoming first issue of Free Verse Revolution.
Coming in mid-March as our first digital issue… hebe (the fountain of youth)!
Below is the front cover, featuring an incredible piece of visual art by Constance Bourg. We feel this piece of art captures the broad mix of work within the issue as our contributors explore the natural world, classical imagery, youth, exploration, what it means to grow old and how we yearn to return to the past.
Constance Bourg lives in the Flemish part of Belgium, where she volunteers at her local library. Her poems have appeared in Rogue Agent, The Poetry Shed, Blanket Sea, The Pink Plastic House anthology and the Emma Press anthology of illness. She also dabbles in collage and is currently working on a book-long erasure poetry and collage project transforming Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book. She leads a part-time life because of an invisible disability called ME/CFS. You can find her at constancebourg.wordpress.com
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Work accepted by Free Verse Revolution
I have some news to share with you …
We hope you are as excited as we are about the release of Issue I: hebe (the fountain of youth)! To tease you a little further, below are the incredible writers, artists and photographers whose work will be featured in our first issue.
The cover reveal will be released this Sunday coming at 2pm GMT.
We cannot wait to share this issue with you in March.
Disembodied
(after The Lovers II by René Magritte)
The sound reverberates against plain walls
walls of chalk that cannot hold a nail
the veiled lovers are joined in dance
circling like rosary beads
heels clicking on the stone-cold floor
like time measured and stalled
both are matador and bull, rutting
when warmth is looked for like keys
and lookers-on breathe hot stings
behind arched fingers, a curse
Dame Blanche, they call her
now it is like she was never here.
Bones come at sundown
This post is part of my book-long erasure poetry and collage project on Tove Jansson’s The Summer Book.
