The editor of the monthly online zine Minus 9 Squared has set up a new blog called Minus 9 Online. The aim of the new blog is to provide a continuous stream of work by writers and artists during the gap between publication of the monthly zines proper.
The blog is split into two categories - Words on a Page, for poetry, prose and short stories; and Pictures on a Screen, for all work of a visual nature.
Three of my poems currently feature in the Words on a Page category of the blog - Fantasies, All the Old Friends and Rankle; though, once the blog receives more submissions they'll disappear from the home page quite quickly!
Submitting work to the blog is a good way of getting exposed and could lead to being published in Minus 9 Squared itself, or even in other magazines as anybody could be reading/viewing the content. At the time of writing, the blog remains relatively bare, so help fill it up with a catalogue of work by getting the submissions in!
Showing posts with label Fantasies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fantasies. Show all posts
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
Fantasies
All my fantasies are filled with people
who are not me, controlling my heartbeat
as if it was their own with actions I
could never even dream of achieving
by myself because I am simply not
able nor worthy. They carry hopes of
nations upon shoulders incredibly
broad, and they do so with the freedom
and movement of children gracing us with
the presence of their imagination.
And it makes me sad that some are younger
than I, and so much more gifted too, with
a grand stage to exhibit their talents
on; and it only serves to remind me
of my own inadequacy and my
own failings in my own life, here, in the
real world, where real things happen or do not
happen, depending on whether one can
speak up or sit down when the time is right
or wrong or never to be; and it soon
becomes apparent that my fantasies
are actually living nightmares that haunt
me night and day, and morning and evening,
tearing me to pieces to put me back
together, just to pull me apart once
more, just to piece me back together again,
like some sort of sick jigsaw puzzle which
has a jagged part that does not quite fit
because it is never allowed to end.
who are not me, controlling my heartbeat
as if it was their own with actions I
could never even dream of achieving
by myself because I am simply not
able nor worthy. They carry hopes of
nations upon shoulders incredibly
broad, and they do so with the freedom
and movement of children gracing us with
the presence of their imagination.
And it makes me sad that some are younger
than I, and so much more gifted too, with
a grand stage to exhibit their talents
on; and it only serves to remind me
of my own inadequacy and my
own failings in my own life, here, in the
real world, where real things happen or do not
happen, depending on whether one can
speak up or sit down when the time is right
or wrong or never to be; and it soon
becomes apparent that my fantasies
are actually living nightmares that haunt
me night and day, and morning and evening,
tearing me to pieces to put me back
together, just to pull me apart once
more, just to piece me back together again,
like some sort of sick jigsaw puzzle which
has a jagged part that does not quite fit
because it is never allowed to end.
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