Archive | January 2014

Women’s Slam 2014

This year’s women’s slam is coming up THIS WEEK at Pressed Cafe! Show at 7:15
Cover = $8 at the door (free for competing poets). All women-identified poets welcome to slam. Who’s gonna be there? 😀


Issue 1 Table of Contents

New magazine of speculative prose offers up its first table of contents, which features local Goblin Queen – among other amazing women wordsmiths – Amal El-Mohtar. Issue launches of February 13th, and I can’t wait! 😀


Here’s the full Table of Contents for our inaugural issue. We’re proud of it, though we have no right to be; the heavy lifting was done by the talented people listed below. Needless to say, we’re also very thankful, and very excited to launch Issue 1 on February 13th.

lackingtoncoverTheir Dead So Near, by Kate Heartfield (artwork by Carrion House)

Mon pays c’est l’hiver, by Amal El-Mohtar (artwork by Paula Friedlander)

An Orange Tree Framed Your Body, by Alex Dally MacFarlane (artwork by Teresa Tunaley)

Death and the Girl from Pi Delta Zeta, by Helen Marshall (artwork by Alfred Klosterman)

Balloons, by Christine Miscione (artwork by Stacy Nguyen)

A City on Its Tentacles, by Rose Lemberg (artwork by Galen Dara)

On Every Boy’s Skin (All the Stars Ever, Also Bones), by Erik Amundsen (artwork by Tomasz Wieja)

Cover art will be drawn by MANDEM.

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THREE POEMS by Penny Harter

Squid, Seals, and Whale Heat.
Check out threse three poems by Penny Harter, along with an archive of brilliant work from Annie finch, Sheryl St. Germain, Carly Sachs, Nicole cooley, Barbara Henning, Monique Wentzel, Martha Serpas and plenty more, over at Poets for Living Waters.

Poets for Living Waters


The Hawaiian bobtail squid
forages in the night surf
while waves of moonlight, of starlight
fall like sediment into the sea.

Its globular eyes pulse green;
its spotted body glows
orange, brown and blue.

Smaller than my thumb,
it is a galaxy, an organ
of light inhabited by millions
of luminescent bacteria.

In the abyss beneath these squid
other nocturnal predators prowl;
yet they can not see the bobtails
whose bacteria protect them, shining
in the wavelength of the stars
and of the moon.

What have we learned
to do for the Earth
that means as much?


On this continent time is a whiteout
waxing and waning with the ice
that doubles in each six month night.

Snow of a million years,
snow falling upon snow
fills the valleys,
caps the mountains.

Empty as the moon,
silent as the wind,
this is a land of hostile cliffs,

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