Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

I am now a poetry interview editor for The Collagist‘s blog.  Check out interviews here:


And this one is specifically mine:



Look out for more interviews!  Also, ones from my friends Melissa Goodrich and Amber Cook!


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Some words come and go as trends and this list is a general list of words that I’ve noticed poets, or just writers in general, should probably avoid for awhile.  Or use very sparingly.  Feel free to contribute.

Dancing (when used as a personification. “The light dances across the leaves.”)
Obvious art references, e.g. Sistine chapel
Most astronomy references (again, obvious ones. Everyone can find Orion.)
Rib cages
Hip bones
“Math term” of “-ing word.” Like “the geometry of yearning” or “the algebra of forgetting.”
Fever and/or fever dreams
Cocoon (especially as a verb)
Anything that sexualizes food
Ghost when referring to anything that’s not a ghost

Edit: 9/5
Anything to do with Alice in Wonderland

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Check out my poem, “Patterning,” newly published in Outrageous Fortune HERE!!!

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Part 1!

Part 2!

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Almost anything can be a poem.

Very few things can be good poems.

Many things are good poems in some contexts, but bad poems in others. This does not mean that you have to like these poems, even if you can admit that they are contextually good poems. You can still think that they’re boring.

Steal, but don’t copy. Steal aspects. For example, I’m stealing from our revered professor, Joe Scapps, right now. But I am not trying to be Joe Scapps; I do not have a mustache on my face.

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2) If religion were to disappear, what would you want to replace it?
Literature. What is religion but a constant? I grew up in a secular household. My mother presented the idea of God and Christianity to me, but we never went to church. It makes sense, then, that I became so obsessed with reading. Stories teach you things, perspectives. Poems satisfy the part of me that like puzzle boxes and falling in love. And falling out of love. And trying to comprehend how beautiful water is. And how light is my favorite thing that I cannot hold. And how sometimes I think everything is ending. And how sometimes I think my Grandfather is the sky. Adrian, my pen pal from Canada, wrote raw poems and posted them on Diaryland (ha, the internet) for everyone to see. Somehow, I found him. They were magic. I carried them with me. He doesn’t believe in them anymore; he told me he stopped writing because he grew out of it; he didn’t need it anymore. But none of that matters. His poems still exist and will always exist and I can believe in them and they just won’t fucking leave me or break my heart and I can’t miss them like I miss everyone else and how I have always missed people.

And it means something.

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Poem Excerpt

“You fold into me like a jack knife.”

End post.

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