she unfolded

Nicole Marie:

Join me at Tipsy Lit for some (sort of) Christmas-y poetry!

Originally posted on TIPSY LIT:

he left on Christmas

disappeared in a blur of

candy colored lawn figurines she

moved her hand across the window

drew up a smiley face and

watched the curve of his

back as it faded further

down their welcome path

 

she moved to the stereo

cranked a vinyl holiday

special spun a spider’s web

of every light strung from

the railing fashioned it

into a crown poured a

glass of eggnog and

lit a cigarette

 

she counted the shapes

under the tree as ten

colorful accomplices

in his dramatic exit

she unfolded every one

like delicate flowers

and was wading by midnight

in paper and cardboard

 

the veil of her light

crown caught on the

snowman by the front door

it blew out like a

dying star and in

the sudden quiet in

the darkness there she

could finally see herself

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marked

Photographer: Amelia Fletcher (http://designspiration.net/image/1600174134540/)

Photographer: Amelia Fletcher (http://designspiration.net/image/1600174134540/)

I’ve been busy

digging around

for a part of me

I buried before

you

out in the backyard

behind the

only tree

like a duffel bag of

latex gloves and

bloodstained clothing

crucial

 

you found me

on a monday

poured over a

treasure map of

old photographs

marking a figurative ‘x’

on every familiar

face you asked

what I was looking

for I said the

breath in my

own lungs

 

you took me by

the elbow like

authority like

old love

you stood me

up raised a

finger to my

lips marked

an ‘x’ there I

closed my eyes

mouthed the words

where did you find it?

 

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Get Your Guidelines On!

Nicole Marie:

Planning to submit a chapbook to Tipsy Lit for consideration in January? Read on for the guidelines and start polishing that manuscript!

Originally posted on TIPSY LIT:

Compilation and Anthology guidelines are up at Tipsy Lit!

If Mondays don’t mean “dog porn” where you come from, then we can’t be friends. I’m just kidding…can I braid your hair?

Guidelines are up, my friends! Take a sneak peek at what we’ll be looking for starting January 1st for those who want to submit a piece for our anthology or for those who would like to publish a compilation with us.

CLICK HERE FOR COMPILATION GUIDELINES

CLICK HERE FOR ANTHOLOGY GUIDELINES

Happy dog porn day, you guys!!

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The Amazing List of Awesome

Nicole Marie:

Want to be on Ericka’s Amazing List of Awesome? Well then, I suggest you read this post.

Originally posted on TIPSY LIT:

The Amazing List of Awesome #twitter

Look at this asshole and his tiny beer glass of marshmallows. #iwanttobehim

Here’s the deal: I want an amazing Twitter list of awesome where I can RT and tweet to people who aren’t trying to sell me used socks.

Isn’t that what every girl wants in life?

So if you’d like to be on Ericka’s Amazing List of Awesome, then I need you to do a few things for me:

  1. Like/follow as many of these social media channels as you possible humanly can: Facebook | Ello | Twitter | Pinterest
  2. Then leave a comment telling me you did so and leave THE LINK to your Twitter profile. Don’t just put @AssholeEatingMarshmallows. Please put the actual link.

I think I’ve just found my new Twitter handle.

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expired

I am stuck standing in the

mud of a time where words got

knotted together because there was no

lack of voices in our home, just the constant

knocking of chatter against the windows and the

walls of weather, what’s-for-dinner

but all of it was like the tiniest of earthquakes in

my chest, that old reliable constant

loud or barely heard it was there,

the warmest grip on my bones in the

bluish hue of the television

 

but now

 

I am knocking on the walls and

holding my breath to hear if my

memories come pounding back, and setting a

table for a solitary two is only romantic

sometimes because there is a catch,

when you are exchanging

expired stories over breakfast eventually

they all run out and the silence comes,

that deafening reminder to turn up

the heat, turn up the radio, anything to

take the edge off

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Therese Halscheid’s Frozen Latitudes: Coming full circle through tales of life, love and loss.

 

Therese Halscheid walks us to the edge of a sea of emotions in Frozen Latitudes, a heart-wrenching collection of poems that focuses on a daughter’s flailing attempts to understand a father’s dementia, woven effortlessly with stories of an Alaskan landscape and its people.

Halscheid starts our journey with a quiet forcefulness that even in its modesty rises from the page and pulls us in. “I want to break through/mouth open,” she writes, “sentence after sentence moving words/over the winter earth/my father out of me.” The last line stands alone at the lowest point of the page, already leaving us with something to consider long after the story is over.

The author’s intimate descriptions of an early Alaska sky and the heavy words of the families living below it is evidence enough of her time spent there. Halscheid worked with an Inupiaq Eskimo tribe on White Mountain, and received a residency in Homer. In an aching piece entitled “Clan of the Owl – tale of an Inupiaq tribe”, Halscheid speaks of a man who lost his son when his snowmobile broke through the river’s ice. A white owl appeared in the sky at the time of his son’s death, a symbol of the tribe’s belief in the afterlife and the intimate connection between human and animal. “The way Rose tells it was like the spirit of his son/was in the form of an animal and there/was a strange light around and wind like/a slight brushing of feathers and feathers as/the sound of death passing through to/the other side of the world.” Stitching together this understanding of life and death through the eyes of the Eskimos with her own confusion at her father’s failing health creates a beautiful and undulating story of life from one culture to another.

As Halscheid moves us through more flashing moments of family, illness and those mutual emotions that connect us all as humans, she also interjects with fleeting tales of deep love, and in one poem describes the body as something readable, with “shoulder blades arched/like sides of an open book.” “Love, I want to say, I want to say, love/touches the body, the entire body, Let it be.” By the very end we are swooning, and the author is dancing in our wake. “The room is an open tale, let us say the ceiling has stars:/wishful, burning, exploding to earth.”

By the end of the book things have come full circle, and while there is a small bit of resolve there is also new darkness on the horizon that leaves us with tension in our shoulders, a pang in our hearts and a strange understanding of the sometimes grisly workings of the universe. Therese Halscheid’s collection is one to keep on your nightstand, with each page dog-eared in a continuing attempt to uncover every secret behind her words.

Purchase Frozen Latitudes here:

Get more from Therese Halscheid here:

http://www.theresehalscheid.com/

 

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Submissions Are Open!

Nicole Marie:

Tipsy Lit is now accepting submissions for guest posts AND poetry! So send us your stuff! :)

Originally posted on TIPSY LIT:

Property Brothers

I was going to post a photo that makes sense but then I thought adding a pic of The Property Brothers with their gorgeous flowing manes would be better.

Because that’s how my brain works.

Ready for my to excite you face off?

But not really. You have such lovely eyebrows.

SUBMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

We’re still working out guidelines for compilations and our anthology, but in the meantime we are accepting submissions for poetry and guest posts!

Poetry pieces will be published on our Story Blog and guest posts will be published on our Authors Resources Blog.

If you’ve been chilling with Tipsy for awhile now, you know we used to publish A LOT of info that helped writers with their writing, publishing and marketing goals.

Well, now we want to bring that info back!

Plus, we know how amazingly talented you are from our past experiences with…

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sightlines

you watch me fading

sweetly from the

cliff side of our bed like

I always do when the rain

knocks gently on our door

and washes my bones so that I

can fold as small as every

love note you leave on my pillow,

praying words will be enough

to lift me from my grave,

water my hollow insides,

maybe glance outside and catch

my sunken face in the window

 

but I am spending ages trying

to remember how your mouth

feels as I am struggling

to open mine long enough to

wet my tongue and remind you

that even from here I have the best

view of just how lovely you are

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Seconds

Nicole Marie:

Poetry by the lovely Ericka Clay over at Tipsy Lit this fine morning!

Originally posted on TIPSY LIT:

Seconds by Ericka Clay

Photo credit: ˙Cаvin 〄 on Flickr

I could get you

out of my head

for a moment,

a time or two,

or seventy-two

when flushing mop

water down the toilet,

listening to swirls

sucked down the pipes.

But then Evening

comes strutting around

like a lipsticked slut.

Legs open, bottle of wine

head in her lap,

tears on the floor.

And then I don’t think

of you for a little bit longer,

The old seventy-two

To today’s ninety-four.

Copyright Ericka Clay © 2014

Copyright Ericka Clay © 2014

{Read Ericka’s Novel for Free}

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shoestrings

Originally posted on TIPSY LIT:

weddinglovemy bed is still warm with

your midnight laughter and I am

pacing the room in my sheet cape

and painting my breath on every window,

I am carving out your name

and turning my face to see the shapes of

all the trees through every letter,

and do you still remember just how starlit

our fingertips were after a

bottle of wine and spilling out the

contents of our hearts like marbles

on the kitchen floor?

and when I am aching sleepless from your

absence I count backwards all

the times we tied ourselves together

like shoestrings, every time I

wielded the hammer but you

still let me be the one to rearrange

all the pieces of you, spewing

commentary on all the

quirky jaggedness of us,

so I am leaving your name flashing like

a traffic signal on my window

and I’ll be thankful for you

through every…

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