Iconic Publishing ---Published!

Hey Bunnies,

SAID AND UNSAID--the poetry collection I'm in from TNBW will be published by a real print pubilsher. YEAH!

As you know (probably), I have a self-published poetry book called Love and Lighter Fluid: poems of a Wild Tirzah. What you might not know is that besides my published magazine poems and that book, I also have ten poems in an anthology.

The Anthology is called SAID AND UNSAID.

Originally members from my writer's group (The Next Big Writer)did a self-published book. Luckily or happly...okay hapuckily---Iconic Publishing has picked up our Anthology to traditionally publish under their new poetry imprint.

I'm happy!

Can you tell?

I don't have the date yet---don't worry you'll hear all about it.

Plus I'll also talk about my fellow poets from the anthology as the book gets closer to publication. Maybe I'll interview them on here.

New poets are hard to find. At least ones that don't make your eyes bleed.

These guys are not eye bleeders.

As for those looking to publish, you should check out this up and coming publisher. Iconic is wonderful to work with and is going to be publishing some books that you'll drool over in the next year.

Yours,

Tirz

My poem: 47th & Decoursey

I haven't put one of my poems on my blog in forever. So that's what today's Whatever is. My poem.

All my poetry is fairly personal.

47th and Decoursey



Standing on 47th and Decoursey

I think about dirty water

tree limbs

water moccasins

probably a drowning

should I miss impalement

on sharp fingered debris



I think about it

walk across the concrete corridor

my feet crunching the broken

beer bottles

to watch the water

dull, dirty

convulsed with snotty

balls of human refuse

it still moves

with sluggish motion

in its ditch of a riverbank

I watch it,

head bent,

sun burning my neck

heating my shoulders



sweating...



how my stomach hurts

hard but empty

floating somewhere near

my throat



I can’t think

of any reason why

not



but for some reason

I shrug off

and shuffle back

to 47th and Decoursey

a roadway away

from home,

and empty dark rooms

where light won’t follow



I think about it

but I don’t trust the water

that it won’t spit me back

on the muddy bank

smelling of sewage

and dank dead things

yet very much alive



Do other people think

about such things?



Such thoughts

are never far from me...

just past 47th and Decoursey

Poem: Santa's Off Season

SANTA'S OFF SEASON










No, I ain’t gonna sit in your lap.
Don’t want no presents, no gifts,
don’t need no old man to give my skirt a lift.
You got a belly like jelly,
and crumbs in your beard.
And what's that smell? Wet reindeer?
And it’s none of your business
if I’ve been naughty or nice.
Sober up, fool, and go home to you wife.
Your cheeks are all rosy, your eyes have a shine,
I know that look...too much wine.
And breaking into houses,
that, moron, is a crime.
I just came over to say...
that you, old man, you're in my way,
so could you move that god-forsaken sleigh?

the light: A Poem

the light came through the window
like spears
it cut me in two

as God allowed him to be cut

sliced my insides in thin, round slices
and served me
to the uninvited guests

they took their piece
tasted
and found it bitter

bitter black as his box

through the glass
into the clouds, past heaven
I looked to the light

looked for the answers
or even the questions
and found heaven deserted

I was alone as he now was

as he was laid back
into the arms of the earth
I looked to the sky...

and found no mercy,
no God,
nothing but the light

how it empties my soul

Dizzy Dots: Poem

I wake with rocks in my chest
Mossy, damp ones that sit heavy
And jam rough corners into my ribs
But this, this doesn’t hurt so much,
Not like my lungs hurt
when they are too full for air.

And this wheeze is a normal thing—
--for me.
In its labored mist I see,
The suffocating yellow spots,
Those dizzy dots,
Thick as starving fleas
Already making a meal of me.

How my fingers tingle
As my chest fills with sand,
Lungs bound in tight rubber bands.
Sometimes, I drink coffee—
Hot and black,
Just to try and get my breathing back.

But one day, I might truly dare
To refuse the doctors their tainted air
Then I’ll take a restful sleep
In the airless place in-between
Where that distant ebony sea
Comforts the cold gold stars
who call to me.

In that airless place beyond the sea.