Corridor Zine Seeks Poems

After two months and two editions, the zine “Corridor” is off and running! Have you found a copy yet? Here is a peek at the covers. Please send in your original poem and/or art by June 15 to be in the next volume. Read up on the details in the post below or click this LINK.

“Corridor” Zine Needs You!

Do you live along the I-5 corridor? Do you write poetry? Do you like to help people? Answer yes to any of those questions and we got lift-off!

I have a simple vision. A 12-page, 5×7, staple bound, free zine sitting there, waiting to be discovered. It is casual, it is no drama, it is free and it says “I love you, you got this.” You have coffee together and it follows you home. You become best friends. Then, a month later, another zine, a new zine appears… How will you break the news to last month’s friend that you found a new friend? Hey, it’s OK. Corridor the zine says, “We can all be friends. Love us all.” See. It’s easy. No drama. Just a little monthly collection of 10 poems to help us during this transition out of isolation. Easy.

THE DETAILS

What: a limited edition coffee house monthly zine called “Corridor”. It gets its name from the I-5 corridor that mimics how thoughts travel through highways of the mind.

Each edition will include 10 thought-provoking poems selected by the Corridor Collective. Each poem should be in a shorter format, no more than one page, with 12 point font maximum, please. If you have “safe for everyone” original print-ready art that would work on a 5×7 format you are welcome to submit it. Submission does not guarantee publication. Poets selected will be notified and receive an electronic copy of the final zine.

I am not going to mass email the zine. The zine is designed to be discovered in a local shop. The zine is stress and drama free.

-me

What is a zine: zines are non-commercial, self-published booklets that are typically reproduced using a copy machine. They provide a safe space for their creator to freely express themselves and share their art, words, and thoughts with a chosen (and often niche) audience.

Type of poems the Corridor Collective is seeking: Poems that provoke deep thought, offer encouragement, entertain, share a story. Content must be friendly to all ages and lifestyles. Poems and art must be original and created by the submitter. Submission does not guarantee publication.

How will people get this zine: The zine will be distributed by hand to various local shops around Bellingham, WA by me. The first edition will be about 40 copies. These are Easter Eggs. These are hidden treasures. These will be cherished works of art beloved by many owned by few. If you want to distribute them in your town, message me.

What should I do when I find it? Please consider supporting the local cafe or store that has copies of “Corridor” when you stop by to get a copy. Even a purchase of $5 is helpful to the brick and mortar and other local businesses during this post-covid transition.

Where do I send my submission: Please send it to shannon dot chickadee at gmail dot com. If you have a specific form, such as a waterfall poem, I suggest sending it as a PDF. I will also take WORD or copy/paste it into the email. I will ask questions if any come up, but I want these zines to be quick, accurate, & easy. 
The poet must tell me how they would like to be acknowledged, how the poem is to be referenced and/or book cited, etc., otherwise it will be marked “anonymous”.

Is there a deadline for submissions: No, not really. Deadlines are so stressful and this zine does not subscribe to stress. The goal is to produce one zine per month and distribute them to local shops and cafes between the 1st – 10th of each month. Submissions that are not selected for one month may appear in the next month. However, if you can get your poem or piece of art to us by the 15th of the month, you have a good chance of appearing in the next month’s edition. Poets selected will be notified. Please send original poems and/or art anytime to shannon dot chickadee at gmail dot com. The Corridor Collective will try to put together random poems that “fit” well together. But that may not happen, and it’s OK. Why? Because it is a no-stress endeavor. We are trusting fate and happenstance, and the suburb science surrounding the coinkydink.

What if the poem I want to submit is old and/or was published: Many things get better with age. If you own the work, then please submit it. Also, remember to tell us how you would like it cited. Example:
Author last name, First name. “Poem Title.”
Book Title, Publisher, Year, Page number(s).
Used with authors permission

How rich will I get: no money is involved. There is no money.

How easy is this: It is easy. It is nice. It is fun. It is an opportunity for the right poem to find the right reader in some random act of kindness way. Easy. As easy as a cat falling asleep on your keyboard.

Poetry Club Talks…Sylvia Plath Pt1

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-svhn7-118d091

Topic: Sylvia Plath Pt1
Host: Mike
Poem: “Mad Girl’s Love Song” and “Ella Mason and Her Eleven Cats”
Recorded: January 20, 2022

Sylvia Plath Poems

This week Poetry Club takes on the work and life of Sylvia Plath, an American poet (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963).  Poetry Club looks past her “sad girl” persona and rejoices in the craft and construction of this mid-20th century poet’s marvelous work.
The range of her work is explored as we compare the energy of “Mad Girl’s Love Song” to “Ella Mason and Her Eleven Cats” in the first of this series.  Plath’s word choice, rhythm, hyperbole, and images are examined.  Join us as we dive into the Queen of Confessional Poetry.

sylvia plath 1

“In 1950, Plath matriculated at Smith College, where she graduated summa cum laude in 1955.

After graduation, Plath moved to Cambridge, England, on a Fulbright Scholarship. In early 1956, she attended a party and met the English poet Ted Hughes. Shortly thereafter, Plath and Hughes were married, on June 16, 1956.

Plath returned to Massachusetts in 1957 and began studying with Robert Lowell. Her first collection of poems, Colossus, was published in 1960 in England, and two years later in the United States. She returned to England, where she gave birth to her children Frieda and Nicholas, in 1960 and 1962, respectively.

In 1962, Ted Hughes left Plath for Assia Gutmann Wevill. That winter, Plath wrote most of the poems that would comprise her most famous book, Ariel.

In 1963, Plath published a semi-autobiographical novel, The Bell Jar, under the pseudonym Victoria Lucas. She died on February 11 of that year.

Plath’s poetry is often associated with the Confessional movement and compared to the work of poets such as Lowell and fellow student Anne Sexton. Often, her work is singled out for the intense coupling of its violent or disturbed imagery and its playful use of alliteration and rhyme.”
https://poets.org/poet/sylvia-plath

Poetry Club Talks… is produced by Chickadee Productions, located in Bellingham, Washington, USA.

This podcast is FREE for all to listen to. Please consider a donation via PayPal or become a Dollar Donor at Patreon.  Thank you.
PayPal Chickadee Productions
Patreon.com/PoetryClubTalks

Poetry Club Talks…Seamus Heaney Pt1

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-eqpjx-1157024

Topic: Seamus Heaney
Host: Ron
Poems: “Digging” and “Follower”
Recorded: December 4, 2021

Seamus Heaney Poems

Ron hosts the discussion of one of his favorite poets, Seamus Heaney.  Seamus Justin Heaney, born April 1939 – died August 30, 2013, was an Irish poet, playwright, and translator. He received the 1995 Nobel Prize in Literature.  We look at the created word pictures and word choice, share about the life and awards of this famous poet.  In part one we begin an exploration of poems that seem to bookend each other.  Will we get to the “root” of their meaning?  Perhaps, or perhaps we’ll save it for part 2. Please join us.

Seamus Heaney in 1971 Photo credit Jack McManus

“Seamus Heaney is widely recognized as one of the major poets of the 20th century. A native of Northern Ireland, Heaney was raised in County Derry, and later lived for many years in Dublin. He was the author of over 20 volumes of poetry and criticism and edited several widely used anthologies. He won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1995 “for works of lyrical beauty and ethical depth, which exalt everyday miracles and the living past.” Heaney taught at Harvard University (1985-2006) and served as the Oxford Professor of Poetry (1989-1994). He died in 2013.”

Please visit https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/seamus-heaney

Poetry Club Talks is produced by Chickadee Productions

Ghost in the Hall

Do you have dreams about the home you grew up in? I can see my childhood home in my mind. The typical three bedroom west coast rambler; living area on one side and a looong hallway to the bedrooms on the other. As a young kid I was pretty sure the place was haunted. The creaky floor didn’t help.

Ghost in the Hall
by Shannon Laws
Odd Little Things, published 2014

When I was a child A Skeleton Ghost would walk
The bedroom hall of our home  
Afraid of the dark I would sleep with the light on
My door open just enough to keep out the trouble
Ghosts are everywhere when you are four.  

Often the ghost would wiggle its way past my door
Steps heard creaking across loose boards
Creak.  Creak.  Creak.

Down the hall slowly it walked   Skeleton heading for the kitchen
To fill up its ribs with mom’s pork chops
Then fiddle its way back to bed After the meal was consumed  

One scary night before this mystery was solved
I slept between my parents for protection  
Bookends of adult and authority on either side
Defense from anything ghoulish
Each parent rolled over facing the walls
As I lay blinking at the ceiling.  

2 a.m. is Skeleton’s supper time  
Down it came toward my parents’ room
Bones walk lightly when there is no moon  
Closer.  Closer.  Closer.
 
From the ceiling my eyes followed
To see what stood at the foot of the bed  
Its frame wiggled trying to materialize
To grab hold of me with solid hands   
Dad sighed in his sleep and the ghost misted away. 
Scared off by the possibility of his waking
I waited.  Waited.  Waited.  

My father was a quiet man, little brought out
his anger, looking back I think dad was
The Skeleton Ghost walking the halls at night
His spirit jumping out, looking for food for his soul
Wandering around for morsels of encouragement
His bony frame proved little return

Wherever he is, I hope there is a table before him
Every morning set with enlightenment, curiosity, love
I hope he found peace because
With one soft growl
One scary night

He save my life



You can get your copy of Odd Little Things from
independent book store Village Books
https://www.villagebooks.com/book/9798743768806

South Beach

This poem “South Beach” was written back in 2010 and later published in my first poetry chapbook “Madrona Grove” in 2013. It is what some would call a “process poem” where the writer uses the art of poetry to process a real event in their life. Of all the poems in the book THIS is the number one poem that generates an email, phone call or a conversation to me from the reader. I’m glad this poem has touched so many. When I read it, even 11 years later, a part of me is back on that beach. I can still hear the waves, I remember the eagle. That was the year of “no more.”

Cattle Point Lighthouse, San Juan Island, Washington state. South Beach (upper left)
Photo credit: https://mikereidphotography.com/ Please visit his website.

South Beach
by Shannon Laws

Often, we would walk South Beach together
That long large-pebbled beach
along the Salish Sea
on the island’s west side

Short, salt water waves
lap up against the shore there,
constant rhythm set by the wind,
like a slow rock tumbler
sifting for agates

Brown cliffs of San Juan
barely hold a road on top itself
Large crumbles of dirt clots
lay at its feet predicting its fate

Hard soles are needed to walk this beach
The stones just large enough to
aggravate the arches as you walk,
Hamstrings pull heavy with each step

Once in a while,
whenever it wants to,
a large eagle can be found
perched on beach wood

He owns that beach and all who pass
His royal brow gives no doubt

This is my favorite beach, you tell me, one foggy morning

We tried again to walk together
I walked ’til I reached the Eagle King,
you continued alone into the mist
Mystery always favored over familiar
I sit and watch you heavy step away

Alone you go into the fog
leaving me to sit with the eagle
You continue until a low cloud
consumes you from my sight

I imagine you reach the end
where the cliffs give way to the shore
and the landscape bends around
to the fields at Cattle point
I saw you in my mind
alone and happy with your thoughts
and the sea

I sit and watch,
You walk and ponder

A year later,
You sat and watched
as I walked off the island
You let me go that year
just like I let you
walk the beach
alone



Visit my Amazon Author page to purchase or download the book today: https://www.amazon.com/Shannon-Laws/e/B00MCYTUPI%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share

Introduction to Discovery

Here is a poem from my latest book, “You Love Me, You Love Me Not” available on Amazon and at Village Books in Bellingham, WA. The book is an audio book and has a chap book accompaniment. The poem may come across as obvious to some. However, the book and this poem are attempts to explore that level of comfort and communication between two people who can read each other with eyes closed.

Introduction to Discovery

You are a question that must be answered

He touched me
He touched me
The way
I wanted him to
The way
I wished he would
He read my mind
And he touched me

His fingers moved along the ridges
Of my galaxy in search of the ignition
old crate of dynamite
hidden in the shed
sweats with glycerin
delicate to movement
so my love is for you

drop that box! start a bang
kick start a star to life

use all fingers to read
me as a mystery novel
written in Braille
every bump, knob and dip
a conjunction closer to knowing
the riddle of Eve



Poetry Club Talks…Wallace Stevens poem The Snow Man

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-4xdsx-ff15e9

Topic: Wallace Stevens
Host: Lynn
Poems: “The Snow Man”
Recorded: March 27, 2021

The Snow Man Graph and Poem

This week at Poetry Club we ask what Is poetry analysis? Poetry analysis is examining the independent elements of a poem to understand the literary work in its entirety.  Poetry Club member Lynn will host the discussion on the poem “The Snow Man” by Wallace Stevens  (1879 – 1955) and we analyze the heck out of it.

Lynn sends us these notes:
“I’d like our discussion and reflections on this poem to move in the direction of exploring the mind watching our sensations and emotions while reading the poem…that does not hope to ‘solve’ the meaning of the poem… but expands the experience of the poem.”

Wallace-Stevens

BIO
Wallace Stevens (October 2, 1879 – August 2, 1955) was an American modernist poet. He was born in Reading, Pennsylvania, educated at Harvard and then New York Law School, and he spent most of his life working as an executive for an insurance company in Hartford, Connecticut. He won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry for his Collected Poems in 1955.  credit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallace_Stevens

This program was produced by Chickadee Productions

BUK 100 – Thank you


Books ready to fly! You can order the well-made piece here: http://newington.blue/ , DM them at press@newington.blue

What a delight to learn a poem of mine, written in the spirit of Saint Bukowski, b. August 16, 1920, was selected for a chapbook celebrating his 100th birthday! My first international submission acceptance. Indeed an honor. A copy is flying closer to my mailbox as I post this update.
These are beautiful, limited edition, small press collector books that you can still order–get your copy today! Contact Newington Blue Press, East London, today! (Apx. £25)

“Newington Blue Press was born in 2020 – when due to the Covid–19 virus and pandemia the centenary Festival on the occasion of what would have been the 100th birthday of Bukowski – to be held in Germany – had to be canceled. Originally planned as a small, humble replacement only, our anthology of tributes, testimonials, and unpublished works – lived up to it’s second volume so far and is to be continued.

Downing Street chirps in a word.

The writer’s call-out & mission statement for BUK 100:
“We have gathered writers, scholars, and graphic artists/photographers from all around the globe in order to celebrate the man Bukowski on the very occasion. Our contributors range from contemporary witnesses/friends of Bukowski – still alive, to emulating artists working in his tradition, scholars who work for or gaining degrees/doctorates on Bukowski to congenial artists esp. in the performing arts who are occupied with the phenomenon of the «poet laureate of skid row» for years. Everybody is free to greet Charles Bukowski in his or her specific way, style, and individuality, be it an essay – a photograph or poetry. We would warmly welcome you to take part in our little endeavor, which explicitly aims to blow borders of nations and thus assembles contributions from artists from all continents.”

Hank and a Ham Sandwich

P.S.
Perhaps you and a writer you know say, “I need to give this some air.” Reading a work in progress at an open mic or to a group of other writers can help form the piece. In 2018 I read my Charles Bukowski-inspired poem “Christopher Titus Save Me.” based on the Bukowski poem “The Twelve Hour Night”. It is one of my longest poems, yet written from the heart -or should I say the wrenched heart- about working as an overnight deep cleaner at a Casino. I had no words to describe the experience and Bukowski helped me find those words. But, the poem needed air, it needed to be tested.

In my town, we have a monthly open mic at the local indie book store, Village Books. The night I signed up for a 5-minute read, a new artist was in the crowd-drawing, um, portraits… of each reader. Bob Zaslow–thank you. Bob included in his portrait lines from “Christopher Titus Save Me”.


Listen to Poetry Club Talks…Charles Bukowski, that I hosted.
I share the how & whys of what the 2002 book
What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire did for me.
https://poetryclub.podbean.com/e/poetry-clubtalkscharles-bukowski/

Monday is the first day of SPRING! The sun is coming through my window. I watched it as it arched around the buildings, right-sided shadows slowly making their way left. The Christmas Cactus takin’ it all in.
No meme this morning. just this photo.
-Hope you are well, healthy, happy, fed, sheltered, loved, and giving love…and CREATING,
Shannon

Poetry Club Talks…Composition Styles Part 3

https://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-pdth8-f5ebb1

Topic: Composition Methods
Host: Ron Leatherbarrow
Poems: “Housekeeper”, “River Ink”, “Her Hands”
Recorded: December 19, 2020

In our final episode exploring personal styles of poetry composition, Shannon shares three poems written at different times, 2010, 2012, 2016, when her style shifted.  Her background in broadcasting plays an unexpected role, not only in her composition but also in the presentation.

Housekeeper, River Ink, & Her Hands

Photo by Amador Loureiro on Unsplash

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