#backlashpress

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A sample of new Backlash Press titles arriving in September! #backlashpress #poetsofinstagram #poetrycommunity #backlashcommunity #womenwriters

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#MichaelTyrell signing my copy of #PhantomLaundry at #BacklashPress event. (at Iron Duke Hotel)

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#writersofinstagram #writing #writingcommunity #bombingthethinker #poetrycommunity #poem #ohio #backlashpress

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Sample of new Backlash Press titles arriving in September! Pre-orders at www.backlashpress.com #backlashpress #poetsofinstagram #poetrycommunity #backlashcommunity #poetryisnotdead

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#writing #writerslife #writingcommunity #poetry #poetrycommunity #inspirational #backlashpress #community #love #hawaii

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#writersofinstagram #writerscommunity #writing #poetry #nyu #inspirational #empoweringwomen #mythology #pose #poetrycommunity #backlash #backlashpress #womeninwriting

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#Human | #Primrose

by Gretchen Heffernan

The following is an endangered word

#Primrose

Scent, like a sea

shuttles the bees

in tapping fleets

against my window

where the roses, even

with their thorns, grow

independently beautiful, perhaps

more for the thorn than the petal exquisite

like sorrow with a laugh in it –

The bees are dying,

but not without our flowers.

[gretchenheffernan]

Puncture

by Gretchen Heffernan

The unsaid

like net the air

fell over us.

We are careful

with our words,

those sharp arrows

we can’t call back.

[gretchenheffernan]

Our Children

by Gretchen Heffernan

Some nights I stand transfixed

in reverence and terror at what we’ve done.

Good God, I think.  We can make people.

And all I have to give you

suddenly seems useless

inside the earth you’ll inherit.

But I don’t really believe that,

though I’m not sure why,

which is the definition of hope.

Hope is always blind

like the best parts of a poem

before they hit the page, the truth is

that truth is slow to reveal itself.

In the beginning,

I found it hard to be so needed

and poems dipped upon me

like swallows skimming a pond.

I lost them, so many.

With time, I’ve realised, that they are my gifts

to you and when you leave me

and we both break

to open anew,

they will fly and land

upon your shoulders

a large flock of choruses

ready for the catching.

Know this.  

while I

kiss and kiss

your knees.

[gretchenheffernan]

The Wet World Series in Entirety

by Gretchen Heffernan

1.

A night in February can close

over London like a sack over a head.

My shoes against the pavement and the squares

of lamps like inverted fires that glow and suspend  

faces inside pub windows.  I am alone.

The streets are full of strangers,

familiar to the night as foxes   

and wheels over sodden leaves

and the sound of old trains.   

These things swell in me like water

from a gutter swells a drain before it falls,

reuniting with the cavern, my body, is dry –

I have come from the desert.

2.

In the desert the oldest songs lay trapped in the dirt, forgotten

secrets among the new truths, rise up

when stomped upon like rusty little coughs.  

Everything waits

for the thing that quenches it most, water, like touch

to the imprisoned.  People too.  Are dust and tears

down cheeks like a river through a gorge.

We look like where we live – your face was so dry, cracked and dark.  

You were soil.  

We look like where we’ve been.  Together

so long ago it has become never,

so dry you felt flat when wrapped around me

as if I could have folded you

into a paper airplane and shot you

across the sky like a child’s wish.

3.

Conversation between us developed

a photograph in a murky solution,

and we sat holding our

captured moments like terrified birds

in our hands before them letting go

again and again,

watching the dark shapes of ourselves

flap away and dwindle into nothing,

silence.

4.

You live in a house at the foot of Mt. Lemon –

the eroding profile of a chief on his back, staring up

towards the sky, seeing only the underbelly of birds, real or metal, snakes slide

down his nose like clammy currents of wind and cacti pierce through his

cheekbones like prickled warts, seeping red and yellow,

here birds peck and shit.  

He is trapped by the world around him.

I bet you never think of him this way.  

Because you never think of water, that flow from flow and into the greater,

bigger sea –

5.

You have to believe.  My world now

is a wet world.  Where I soak up and wring out

like a cloth that’s mopped up a spill, your spill, you can bury spit in me

and words will rise up,

small mouth shaped flowers,

with teeth,

thirsty here in the desert.

6.

But you can forgive a desert its burns, you can

watch, melt, the evening light as it moves in purple

silhouettes, that shadow of a hand travelling over

his brown forehead like a soothing storm –   

maybe that is all he, we, needed you can say to yourself, you can

look straight at the light as it glosses, rounds off and coaxes

the spirit from its rough house, ours, you can

feel the water ease over past, those hot rocks,

easy as a flock of geese through the air that colour pulls

7.

seamlessly through, the end

of string, of a wound ball of thoughts,

running them out of the mind, you can

change shape in this light, one bird falls behind,

it leaves you, one bird takes

the lead, it leaves you, still, you can

go a long way without water,

you.

[gretchenheffernan]

Wet World Series

by Gretchen Heffernan

6.

But you can forgive a desert its burns, you can

watch, melt, the evening light as it moves in purple

silhouettes, that shadow of a hand travelling over

his brown forehead like a soothing storm –   

maybe that is all he, we, needed you can say to yourself, you can

look straight at the light as it glosses, rounds off and coaxes

the spirit from its rough house, ours, you can

feel the water ease over past, those hot rocks,

easy as a flock of geese through the air that colour pulls

[gretchenheffernan]

Wet World Series

by Gretchen Heffernan

7.

seamlessly through, the end

of string, of a wound ball of thoughts,

running them out of the mind, you can

change shape in this light, one bird falls behind,

it leaves you, one bird takes

the lead, it leaves you, still, you can

go a long way without water,

you.

[gretchenheffernan]

Book of Dirt

by Gretchen Heffernan

But the truth about dreams is that once they’re believed in, they’re already half fulfilled, so faith in impossible things is vitally important. It’s crucial if you want to evolve and the pearl longed to reach its full potential, yet it had come to a point where it found it could advance no further on its own. And so, another truth was shown to the pearl, the truth that none of us are truly independent of one another, of the world, none of us can act alone.

We need others.

[gretchenheffernan]

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#Human | #Ash

by Gretchen Heffernan

The following are words that are endangered

#Ash

Fear felled me

and I became a stump.  Stuck, I

ran my finger over years

both wet and lean.  

But memory was no medicine

and fires came to test me with their devils.

Ash had a different

meaning then, not a tree,

but a thin dust

that words could scatter.

The choices were gather or disseminate.  

I used this labour to invent branches.

They weren’t real (at first)

though thoughts can behave like molecules

and before you know it

inside your fictions

a leaf will appear.  

An honest bud of progress.

And yes, it will fall.

It may even be ripped from you,

the challenge is believing

another will grow in its place.

The understanding is this:

stories survive longer than we do

and we survive because of their

ability to rise out of our ashes and fly

from mouth to fire breathing mouth.

What we are told is the only real.

[gretchenheffernan]

Loneliness

by Gretchen Heffernan

I watch rain

collect in minuscule wires.

The screen window

like cells

of a dragonfly’s wing

when magnified

or other things

that fly

and die

with the seasons.

You.