Cami Park

Posts Tagged ‘Memory’

Barefaced varmints

In Etiquette, Poetry, Religion on September 3, 2010 at 7:07 pm

Litany for Regifting
Reb Livingston

Your animus toward Her is judging
as you expound the soul who spellbound and hunted,
for you are the animal with the anvil and Her poorest choice.
Remedy Her for the sake of the Shepherd’s principle,
the face and master who is you.
For this apologia,
you are ordinary and loathsome.
Remember this, fourth-rate narrator:
Her gifts were debased,
displaced among white elephants,
barefaced varmints full of dicked offense.

This one’s for you, Kid

In Celebrity, Poetry, Prose on July 15, 2010 at 10:46 am

Your Dog Dies
Raymond Carver

it gets run over by a van.
you find it at the side of the road
and bury it.
you feel bad about it.
you feel bad personally,
but you feel bad for your daughter,
about the dog getting run over by a van
and how you looked after it,
took it out into the woods
and buried it deep, deep,
and that poem turns out so good
you’re almost glad the little dog
was run over, or else you’d never
have written that good poem.
then you sit down to write
a poem about writing a poem
about the death of that dog,
but while you’re writing you
hear a woman scream
your name, your first name,
both syllables,
and your heart stops.
after a minute, you continue writing.
she screams again.
you wonder how long this can go on.

I’m sorry, rollerfink. Kid was the best. He’s with Corey Haim (Rambo’s Little Brother!) now.

Dzanc Best of the Web 2010

In List, Poetry, Prose on February 5, 2010 at 1:23 pm

As closure to my Dzanc all* Best of the Web in one place nominees & Dzanc all* Best of the Web in one place nominees – cont’d. posts, here is a partial list of works chosen by Kathy Fish, Matt Bell, and the editorial staff at Dzanc Books to be included their Best of the Web 2010 anthololgy.

“Who’s there?”

Molly Gaudry, The Sky as John Saw It the Night Kate Sparkled

Alice Blue Review
I’m afraid if God saw me, he would very nearly recognize me.

Lucas Farrell, Translations of “My Refrigerator Light Makes Its Way Toward You” Into the 34 Languages Spoken in the Many Woods of Grief

Apparatus Magazine
my teeth played like the keys of a xylophone

Rachel BuntingMartha Stewart Claims She Has Been Struck by Lightning Three Times

The Barefoot Muse
Who was asking for you that you’ve come knocking on my door,/And looking like a single spark in an August of no rain?

James Scannell McCormick, Trouble

BluePrint Review
Dark clouds hang low, and she’d like to snag one with her fingernail.

Michelle Reale, Nostrum

If you had a boy to love what would you not do?

Kyle Minor, Suspended

Carte Blanche Literary Review
To worry about snow is to be snow, bound; and snow’s where I got married and this picture of him running like a cartoon and his sad-happy eyes is like a canvas I can write anything I want.

Nanette Rayman-RiveraSounds of Silence

Cerise Press
the discovery of snail warfare in the margins/of monastic manuscripts, the zero/that could hold an empty space, the neutron bomb,/the seedless tangerine.

Eleanor Wilner, Headlong for that Fair Target
Jie Li, The Taste of Mangoes

Emprise Review
Peonies, azalea, sweet-scented osmanthus—I beheaded/them all.

Barbara Yien, If You See Buddha on the Road, Kill Him

Everyday Genius
The trees are not enough.

Aaron Burch, How To
David McLendon, Penumbra
Peter Markus, What We Tell Girl to Do With Us Brothers If We Ever Stop Making Mud
Stephen Graham Jones, Modern Love
A man with such loneliness repels even the moon’s face in water.

Terese Svoboda, Swanbit

Fiction Weekly
They rested there, a man and a woman motionless holding hands, until the pounding of drums announced dinner.

Patricia O’Donnell, Gods for Sale

Fiction Writers Review
Withholding details—in other words, failing to communicate well—is a sign of a monster.

Christine Hartzler, Games Are Not About Monsters

FRiGG Magazine
She’s at the window, blowing smoke at the stars. “I’d pull them out by their roots if I could.”

Charles Lennox, Touching the Spine
Robert Bradley, Contemplations of the Saints

Nothing She said Would make me happier.

Sasha Fletcher, One Day All Your Teeth Will Be Mine

> kill author
He fans out his fingers and I feel his hand not as a certain thing, but as a variable, as a thing that can change.

Emma J. Lannie, Proxy
J. A. Tyler, Jimmy and his Father and the Ways About Them

Lamination Colony
The coals might pop and light the straw grass on fire and maybe burn the whole yard, maybe burn the house and the barn, spread to the field, blow into town and choke the sky with a sooty eclipse.

Josh Maday, Ashes to Undermine the Smell

The presidents oh man the scenario and the sun, but remain untagged.

Brian Baldi, Ideally Learnt French for Eavesdroppers

Everything that happened underground was doctrine

Mary Biddinger, Population: 41,685

Mississippi Review Online
She lay on her bed with the phone up snug to her ear during this particular conversation and her room seemed smaller to her after he said this.

Myfanwy Collins, Wash, Dry, Fold

Necessary Fiction
We watched the orange streetlights come on, and sweated without knowing it.

Jensen Beach, Family
Rachel Yoder, Arizona’s Lonely
Sara Levine, Baby Love
Steven J. McDermott, When a Furnace Is All That Remains

Night Train Magazine
They’ve been writing on the walls with themselves.

Donora Hillard, From: Chorus from the Land of Grownups
William Walsh, Muse

No Tell Motel
Forget/in both directions from this moment.

Joanna Ruocco, When I Worked for Madonna

NOÖ Journal
Before the sky got low and touched the ground and the neighborhood got small and fragile and the storms came through and tore trees apart and threw them onto houses and garages and split cars in half and pulled away the swamp grass and cat-tails and roof shingles, and rope swings, we spent our days in play.

Mary Hamilton, You Wouldn’t Believe Me If I Told You, But Me and Theodore Built a Time Machine

The Northville Review
I liked being in my room, and I liked walking around outside looking for birds’ nests, fox holes, new growth in the spring.

Lydia Copeland, Pact

The Scrambler
Am I the only one in this who hopes it gets worse?

Leigh Stein, The Reckoning

Smokelong Quarterly
I built a bridge for strong and sturdy. I built a bridge and named it Doris.

Mary Hamilton, Me and Theodore Are Trapped in the Trunk of the Car with Rags in Our Mouths and Tape Around Our Wrists and Ankles, Please Let Us Out
Michael Czyzniejewski, Pregnant With Peanut Butter

Staccato Fiction
She also once told me she felt like she was drowning.

Cami Park, Glory

The Summerset Review
Butter flows slower than blood.

Kasandra Snow Duthie, Where the Glazed Girls Go
My history of falls is unkind.

Pamela Uschuk, A Short History of Falling

Toasted Cheese
He kept them tethered with string and fed them regular doses of helium from a baby bottle.

Frank O’Connor, Foolish Creatures

Valparaiso Poetry Review
Their mouths are full./They have no wings.

Claudia Emerson, Ground Truth

The sink was water-stained, the mirror missing a corner. I recognized myself in it right away.

Dave Housley, Pop Star Dead at 22
Elizabeth Ellen, Samuel L. Jackson Is Not a Good Name for a Rabbit
Jennifer Pieroni, Now, Right Now
Mary Miller, Aesthete
Sean Lovelace, A Sigh Is Just a Sigh

Redheaded wife

In Art, History, Prose on February 3, 2010 at 6:24 am

Out of nowhere, the beautiful Chinese girl walked into his life  . . . just as the redheaded wife walked out

Remember when almost every print magazine contained good literature? Me neither, but here is Moon Over Manhattan, by Pearl S. Buck, in McCall’s in 1953. The superb illustration reminds me of what Marty D. Ison does for Smokelong Quarterly today.

A few things

In Film, Music, Poetry, Prose on January 27, 2010 at 5:49 pm

Happy birthday, Mozart


In List, Music, Poetry on January 19, 2010 at 5:41 pm
Vodpod videos no longer available.

Things That Used to Be Legal
Cami Park

Burning leaves
Sunday afternoons a giant cigar

Cigarette commercials
Animated packs dancing, singing of their flavor

This hurt the most to lose
Bloated nights cushioning eggshell days
Everything underwater


In Confessional, Photography, Poetry on January 14, 2010 at 12:41 am

I love what Ana Carrete is doing with her soon-to-expire domain– soliciting poems about expiring, to be posted until the lights go out. She has 17 excellent poems so far, by folks like Adam Coates, Rollerfink, Brittany Wallace, Thomas Patrick Levy, P. Edward Cunningham, Crispin Best; etc., and wants more, so send her something, for the sake of having your work crumble to virtual dust on a schedule. I’m going to.

Some (soon to be dead) links to selected quotes from the poems, after the jump:

your tongue uttering a tender gravewe always finish the orange juiceany excuse pretending I’m the thing I suck from/Is welcomedyou can paint my nails you can do that if you wanti will remember this day/but not always¿ defileI realize my throat is a slopholeDot: the only virtuous element

Just have the cake

In Confessional, Film, Photography on January 4, 2010 at 6:41 pm

this somehow reminds me of Calvaire

Mungo Millenium, Best of (+ bonus new image and link)

In How to, List, Science on December 31, 2009 at 12:01 am

The last 6 months of 2009, anyway. It’s a young blog.

Post-Civil War Re-enactment
Not Really*
It really is a lion

The goddam regrets
How poets die

Things to do on a plinth
Things like other things
Girl World

Some strange gravity
Maybe crying

We are in love
It’s nothing, nothing at all

Lucia, Luis, and the Wolf
Easter Rabbit is here
Also, eggs

I wanted to fuck a robot
I cried once when snow stopped falling
Somewhere graphite grey
A fastening

Christmas morning

In Confessional, History, Surprises on December 25, 2009 at 7:05 am