#Writeblrcafe

[env0writes]

My eyes got really heavy Like clouds full of rain Thinking of her in the city Like watching the sunset Spread cotton candy clouds Bursting over a 7/11 and it Being the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. Even if you've seen hundreds Of sunsets and hundreds Of 7/11 this one here makes you Almost want to weep at the thought Of it wanting you to watch it

And you can't help but l witness The storm spins itself into crackling And cackling with laughter and lightning

Knowing unlike a lightning bug This love bug can't Be bottled but it's worth a try To hold it close when it gets dark And feel warm all the same

Janus Estuaries Vol. 4, 1.2.25 “Oakland Parking”

@env0writes C.Buck   Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0 Support Your Local Artists

[robertjw4688]

We could never identify

the pain

that took hold of us

like an inpatient hand.

We could only guess

and I imagine

we were always wrong

but

lying in your bed

and watching the cracks

in your ceiling

try to sing

made the planet

a dandelion

in a time

of water hemlocks.

Robert J. W.

[palladiumfragments]

my fingerprint was in the things i didn't say

all the things i didn't say is a tortured poet whose pockets i filled with stones and coaxed into walking into a lake down, down she goes never to be seen again. deep within, you know i, too, struck a match that led us to this precipice but without a body, mystery shrouds it like a story the townspeople think they know until you ask them about it.

so say the hard things one last time, your heart in your throat words hesitantly falling like a light summer rain. at the same moment, i was staring at the crash playing over your face like a see-through film scene. necessary lies filled the spaces where it could have been i tell myself, "better that than asking for forgiveness" i was already mad enough to let it haunt me it's these hands i can't stain.

soon, this case will turn cold confined in polaroids collecting dust in an evidence room fleeting, but in a way, timeless. i'll never speak of it again but nostalgia is the god i believe in so forgive me if i would still hear it in songs feel it in the shadows, bleed it into poems but darling if i spilled my guts you'll be the last to know.

[alaskaisnothere]

isn't it funny how life is wonderful and messy and hard like one day you are crying your eyes out because you feel lost and the next day you are packing your stuff ready to leave your worries behind and start a new chapter in a different country and then you find all these people who love and support you and you still feel lost and you still have no idea what your life is supposed to look like but you're enjoying pink sunset and book dates at the park and overpriced coffees and maybe you just have to enjoy the breeze without expecting a storm

[liminalgardens]

A tile bathtub reminds us not to get too comfortable when the water's warm ~

Holy is the bedrock that reminds us life is hard where we lay our heads

. . .

[innocentlymacabre]

Being a short fiction writer is hard. We painstakingly craft entire narratives, distilled to perfection, and when we're finally ready to publish...we slam face-first into a brick wall.

Rejections are par for the course, but we can't even get rejections if we don't know where to submit. There are so many wonderful magazines out there who are just waiting to read our work, but finding them can be difficult.

As a short fiction writer myself, I know the pain well.

So, I decided to try and help. I've compiled a list of 140 magazines and counting, with information on the genres they accept, if they accept excerpts from longer works, word count limit, pay scale, simultaneous/republished/multiple acceptance status, and their response timeframes.

And the best bit? It's free. All I ask is that you give me a commission on what you make share this with other writers so getting published can be easier for us all.

Grab the database right hereeee.

[dg-fragments]

Here's my heart, with all it's apparent glory, or absence thereof, but with intentions pure, for you to keep within the magnificence of your own, and if, for some reason, it were to slip, unknowingly even, keep it intact, in your remembrance at the very least, for within your memory, could it still flourish, otherwise it shall perish, with no trace of it's own.

- DG

[unmondefou]

do not try to push

your love into my heart,

for the latter is like

a clogged basin

that is difficult to drainage.

--- h.harouche

[nikithathampy]

[norwoodx]

Denied by Death

I tried to bargain with Death, with all my life to show. “What a pity,” he laughs. And shakes his head ever so slow.

“There’s no price I could take, nada you could suggest… even if you brought all your manners, your trinkets and dressed your best. It still wouldn’t be enough! Not a soul would mourn your death!”

My shoulders drooped, my head fell down, disappointment weighing heavy on me. But his claws lifted my face that frowned, An’ his eyes glowed as he said with glee:

"Now what is a deal if I am not pleased? I do a deed for you and your life does nothing for me? You, of no fame or fortune,  you’re not even happy.”

And with 1,000 mouths he laughs til I cry out, “how more humiliating can this be?! Death, face to face, laughing at me!!”

On an’ on he prances the floor, his mocking steps, a cruel show. With a dramatic huff, he spins ‘round and looks me over from head to toe.

“Ohhh they’ll whisper how low I’ve gotten, how desperate I must be! Just to fill my tombs. No, no, you’re not coming with me.”

With one last shove, he pushes me forth out into the cold harsh air. His door swung, then slammed with force, “Good luck, pitiful thing,” was all I could hear.

[circadeacademia]

Icarus, I know how it felt

I too, was a sunflower once

a summer song, a bard in motion.

I too, longed to be kissed by poems

to be fallen apart, crumbled against the palms like golden dust….

I too, inked moth’s madness onto my skin

chained my fate with ember sparks.

melted wax running down my shoulders

like sweet release of an angel's sin,

my ablaze skin

death's breath against my chin

but the fire that never really burnt out

was fuelled by the flames of my heart.

had the dead dreaming of the fireflies

ripped open my ribcage;

had the song of ocean turned my world upside down

had this bizarre triumph condemned me

to you for my heaven and inferno;

had my twisted fate, been a second too slow

I would've plummeted a supernova from the sky….

ruins of my hubris rained like burnt crystals

warped out of shape and time

was it my destiny to drown?

half ashes, half ocean in my lungs?

was it laugh of a madman?

echoing as I danced my way down?

one kiss. heaven’s venomous lips.

fallen. from one blue to the other.

to steal moment's golden bliss.

was it love? or damnation of a poet?

I know how it felt.

to long the eternity once for myself.

— circadeacademia

[mkaugustpoetry]

I missed the day the leaves changed,

Their colors blending and beautiful.

I missed the days they fell,

The ground all covered now in their brown.

As I stumble forward once more,

There are no leaves left

To soften the blows of the branches,

Beating and breaking against my chest.

[robertjw4688]

I shiver

on my father's grave

and sleep on my mother's.

I taste soil

in sweet grief,

never knowing

what to do with it all.

I process

like a broken

video game controller

and envy

those that weep.

Robert J. W.

[itisiives]

Hey, y'all, I'm still raising money for this tuition that's gotten me in a chokehold, so I am still selling my books. But if money is too tight, would you mind requesting the title at your local library, instead? That may help!

📚 📖 📙

And to help convince you: I have a poem featured in Janus Literary.

[ginadope]

rivers and poems

A spiral of duality - your warm side, it has Prepared for you a glass Of ache and gold

I am not much A single drop of softness I dare not greet you in dreams, I Hide my thoughts from myself

And I stand before you Barefoot in the sand A strange wound and a howl Born of beauty Their poetry simple - your fear I will carry away

[palladiumfragments]

the last august where i write what i know

august brings in more than petrichor and volatile skies. soft hauntings lick the windows. what's on the other side of the door doesn't terrify me as much as the absence of a knock. it's the silent requiem. it's the handprints that isn't there. it's the breath i held in my lungs that i never got to sigh. the tug at my ribs i first felt at a bus stop six years ago grows more and more restless each day. if i'm not twenty three i'd simply call it by its name, but i am twenty three in the kitchen brewing my second cup of coffee because the first barely kicks in anymore.

last week i told a friend over lunch that i'm a completely different person now, but the moment i stumbled back into the apartment i realized i still wear my burn marks like a badge of honor. my lover is in the other room, listening to his late brother's favorite song again. while i thrash, he remains serene. i'll never understand the amount of gentleness it takes not to bare your teeth to the world once your body sheathes an endless apocalypse. the fever came gently, but the tragedy lies in my inability to put into words the intricacies of its confusing corporality. you see the smoke in my eyes, you know the flames took something, but the ruins tell you everything and nothing.