won’t listen to your screams."
from one of my FLESH WORLD poems, appearing today within OyeDrum Magazine
read more here - https://oyedrum.com/flesh-world-by-juliet-cook-poetry/
New! Two of my poems appear in the new issue of Misfit Magazine! - "Some people want to remove your eyes" and one of my FLESH WORLD poems...
Below is a link to my two poems - "Some people want to remove your eyes" and one of my FLESH WORLD poems (from a small series).
However, even if hardly anyone reads them, I am still proud of them for my own reasons.
A NEW Review of the Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook "i saw god cooking children / paint their bones"!
Thank you to Latif Askia Ba for this wonderful review of the Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook, "i saw god cooking children / paint their bones" by john comptom"john compton's most recent chapbook, “i saw god cooking children / paint their bones,” produced and published beautifully by Blood Pudding Press, is a testament to love—not the trite and sappy kind, but the kind “rooted in piss and shit” as the Zen saying goes.
Captured in Compton’s (perpetually) turning phrases, peppered by his playful and refreshingly rare diction—catastrophe flowers across these pages, and though they are few, they manage to create an unignorable echo, which rattles furiously in the mind by the end of the collection.
It’s not really my place to read into things, but I’m going to anyway. It seems that the source of this powerful resonance is Compton’s mother, a reoccurring character throughout the book, who (being “plagued / by a psychotic / god”) had a contentious relationship with the poet, and instead of letting this relationship live in a slew of depressing word salads, Compton sets up a sort of dialectic with the pain of being his mother’s “faggot son.”
The poet, rejecting this identity, re-educates us (and corrects his mother) in his sexual vignettes like “fellation” or “the memory of seeing my first uncut penis.”
Even in a poem named “the israeli war,” where you expect an account of pure misery, Compton refuses this from us. Instead, his description is tender: “an explosion of wings.” And so, in this very way, he takes the words and deeds of his mother and bends them around his lines into gentle, ornate lamentations.
Reading “i saw god painting children…” felt like I was eavesdropping on an intimate conversation between a mother and her son, and even if their relationship was marked by suffering, I could still hear the stubborn cadence of love…
or maybe it was just me breathing too loudly. Either way, you can buy this chapbook and other masterly constructed chapbooks at https://www.etsy.com/shop/BloodPuddingPress
I had a rather stressful day yesterday (Wednesday March 24) for various reasons, but on the definite plus side, I feel extremely lucky and grateful that I was able to get my first shot of the COVID-19 vaccination Wednesday afternoon!
The NEW March flock of Thirteen Myna Birds is HERE! - https://13myna.blogspot.com/Offering poetry and art by Trina Stolec, Scott Norman Rosenthal, Wayne F Burke, Dustin King, Eileen Murphy, Yash Seyedbagheri, John Grey, Daniel G. Snethen, and S.M. Moore!
"inject that butt with another order of pills - I can’t even tell which lies are true - I must throw a blanket on you, you're so cold in bed - ventilated lungs gasp for air - I take walks in the cemetery where it is quiet - until humans become mass murderers or don’t make it home for a month - I still think they have mad cow disease - You must force yourself into a mailbox and write - my deliciously despicable lair - detached from the moral and cultural climate - Gritty, disturbing, covered in mold - between tattered drapes - She receives and emits her desires to the world around her - on the anniversary of her slaughter - An ink blot, a small country with rivers for borders on my mattress - lead down to a deeper darkness - make footsteps like ghost children - searching for roadkill"
A year ago this poetry chapbook of mine was coming soon - and now this poetry chapbook of mine is still alive and available, thanks to the wonderful Ethel Zine & Micro-Press!
The Rabbits With Red Eyes by Juliet Cook!
Available via Ethel HERE - https://www.ethelzine.com/shop/the-rabbits-with-red-eyes-by-juliet-cook
Also available via my own Blood Pudding Press shop HERE - https://www.etsy.com/listing/792299569/new-the-rabbits-with-red-eyes-by-juliet?ref=shop_home_feat_4
I was delighted to receive copies of the Lunch Bucket Brigade #4 in the mail today! Here's an image of the cover AND one of my three FLESH WORLD poems that appear inside it.
Delighted to have 3 of my new FLESH WORLD poems inside The Lunch Bucket Brigade Zine #4, alongside poems by Sara Sarna, Sophia Ashley, Nnadi Samuel, Michael Grover, and John Dorsey!
(Our poem appears on page 6. )
"Some people take photos of toilet bowls
before flushing the debris and call that found poetry.
I cut off my cat hair and rabbit tail, toss it
in the next bowl and call it dessert.
A recipe for disaster might be a gourmet chef
read more HERE - https://www.mignolo.art/ptp
P.S. For anyone who hasn't looked at Pinky Thinker yet, one thing that really makes this new magazine stand out uniquely is that it includes all kinds of artsy dance choreography and Screendances. It offers dance art alongside visual art, collage art, and word art (poetry, stories, screenplays). A big part of the reason I sent poetry to this publication was because I don't think I've ever been in a magazine that has poetry appearing right next to contemporary dance performance art and I thought that was really cool. I'm not a great dancer, but I love artsy dance choreography and see/feel it as another form of creative/poetic expression that can go hand in hand with poetry and so I am delighted that Pinky Thinker is exploring this!
Uncomfortable dream last night in which my pet dog was
possibly approaching the end of its life. The dog basically looked like bones.
Literal bones, like if you're walking through a forest and see bones from a
dead animal. The difference was all the dog's bones were connected with
each other, so it had a head, a body, legs and feet, and even a tail - but no
skin or tongue or eyes. But it was alive. But it was in bad shape.
Someone said they could fix it - some woman who acted like an expert who knew what she was talking about. So we were in a dark old basement and my dog was on a table that resembled a table at a veterinary office. The woman who had said she could fix him was cutting into parts of his bone in a way that was supposed to somehow help whatever his issue was - but then she accidentally broke part of one of his bones - and part of me knew he couldn't be fixed or saved after that.
But he was still alive, so what were we supposed to do? She kept cutting and I was worried he was going to break even more, fall apart, and be in terrible pain. I asked her, "Can he hear me?" She said yes, so I was whispering into the dog's ear bones and the holes where his eyes had been and crying until I woke myself up.