I've moved!

I will no longer be posting on azia said what?  But you can find me here:

http://aziadupont.blogspot.com

AWESOME Links+ Catching Fire Teaser

Hope some of these links provide some valuable information/entertainment!

-This is a super cool "Call for Submissions" Photgraphy + Writing Opportunity!

-Blog Dot Squalorly writer Garrett Dennert wrote "What the Writer May Hear"

-Advice from Ksenia Anske- Make Agents Come to You, Not the Other Way Around

-What NOT to Do When Beginning Your Novel: Advice from Literary Agents on Writer Unboxed

-Flavorwire posted some Photo's of Famous Writers When They Were Teenagers

-The teaser trailer for Catching Fire is quite the two minute treat:

IWSG : Genre Commitment

You guys, I'm not even kidding-- you have no idea how happy I am that A to Z is over.  Yes, it was super fun to meet new bloggers and to see what awesome and creative things people came up with to blog about... but I really, really missed my favorite blogger's normal content.  I'm very excited to get back to our regular blogging schedules.

It's the first Wednesday of the month (holy hell, it's May already!  Speaking of May-- it was almost 80 degrees here in New Ulm yesterday, and now... well it's snowing.  Awesome.)  And, since it's the first Wednesday of the month-- that means it's time for Alex J. Cavanaugh's Insecure Writer's Support Group!

 

Hi.  My name is Azia and I have a problem.  

I have writer's commitment issues.

I cannot nail a genre!  People will find out I'm a writer and, naturally ask what I write.  

I'm all like, "Hey, this novel is YA and this other one is NA and this one is just a contemporary romance-kind of like depressing Chick Lit, and hey let's work on a poetry chapbook and I have a collection of essays, so yeah I don't know really know what I write." *insert insecure giggle here.*

Why can't I commit to a genre?  Is it bad that I haven't?  How did you guys know what to write?  

this seemed like an appropriate picture to represent my emotion

HELLLLLP ME.

A to Z : Z Poem - Raj Arumugam

It is the last day of the A to Z Challenge!  Thanks for sticking by me through my poetry adventures!  Tomorrow we go back to our regularly scheduled program-- and it is the day when all of us writer's ban together and reveal our innermost fears- The Insecure Writers Support Group!

Z Poem 
Written by Raj Arumugam
 
Z is useless
Like an appendix
It's not like English'd collapse
if you threw Z to the dogs
(you couldn't call it a sacrifice):
we'd still communicate
we'd still fornicate

it's like if your doctor cut
your appendix and threw it out
you'd still eat and shit

so, useless Z -
like many parts in the human enterprise
like your religion, your ideology, your prejudices:
it's there,
in the human system
but each a Z;
part of a strange assembly

A to Z : Yellow painted toe nails - Azia Archer

There are only 2 Days left of the A to Z Challenge.  Today I'm going to share a poem that I wrote last year, as it appeared in Haunted Waters Press.

Yellow painted toe nails
Written by Azia Archer

Yellow painted toe nails do not sit well on a canvas of pale feet.  The creamy white skin bleeding into the polish so that an unnatural fungal appearance prevails–reminding the owner that their feet are no longer where they once were; tanned, the shiny polished nails tucked into the sand innocently peaking out into the sunlight–giggling and well used.  The way a pair of feet should be.  Not now.  Now they’re cold, cracking, haphazardly folded into wool socks, sweating in loafers all day– tapping along side a desk.

A to Z : Xerox Candy Bar - Richard Brauitgan

 It's week 4 of the A to Z Challenge!  I'm still running with my poetry-theme.  Hope you enjoy!


Xerox Candy Bar
Written By Richard Brautigan

Ah,
you're just a copy
of all the candy bars
I've ever eaten.

A to Z : We Did Not Make Ourselves - Michael Dickman

 It's week 4 of the A to Z Challenge!  I'm still running with my poetry-theme.  Hope you enjoy!

*I have to say I'm REALLY excited to share this poem with you guys-- it's one of my absolute favorite of ALL time.*
 

 
We Did Not Make Ourselves
Written by Michael Dickman

We did not make ourselves is one thing
I keep singing into my hands
while falling
asleep

for just a second

before I have to get up and turn on all the lights in the house, one
             after the other, like opening
             an Advent calendar

My brain opening
the chemical miracles in my brain
switching on

I can hear

dogs barking
some trees
last stars

You think you'll be missed
It won't last long
I promise

I'm not dead but I am
standing very still
in the backyard
staring up at the maple
thirty years ago
a tiny kid waiting on the ground
alone in heaven
in the world
in white sneakers

I'm having a good time humming along to everything I can still
            remember back there

How we're born

Made to look up at everything we didn't make

We didn't
make grass, mosquitoes
or breast cancer

We didn't make yellow jackets

or sunlight

either

I didn't make my brain
but I'm helping
to finish it

Carefully stacking up everything I made next to everything I ruined
             in broad daylight in bright
             brainlight

This morning I killed a fly
and didn't lie down
next to the body
as we're supposed to

We're supposed to

Soon I'm going to wake up

Dogs
Trees
Stars

There is only this world and this world

What a relief
created

over and over

A to Z : "V" - Matthew Dickman

 It's week 4 of the A to Z Challenge!  I'm still running with my poetry-theme.  Hope you enjoy!

 
"V"
Written by Matthew Dickman

A to Z : Ulalume - Edgar Allen Poe

It's week 4 of the A to Z Challenge!  I'm still running with my poetry-theme.  Hope you enjoy!

 
Ulalume
Written by Edgar Allen Poe

The skies they were ashen and sober;
  The leaves they were crisped and sere—
  The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
  Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
  In the misty mid region of Weir—
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
  In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic.
  Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul—
  Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
  As the scoriac rivers that roll—
  As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
  In the ultimate climes of the pole—
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
  In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
  But our thoughts they were palsied and sere—
  Our memories were treacherous and sere—
For we knew not the month was October,
And we marked not the night of the year—
  (Ah, night of all nights in the year!)
We noted not the dim lake of Auber—
  (Though once we had journeyed down here)—
Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
  Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now as the night was senescent
  And star-dials pointed to morn—
  As the sun-dials hinted of morn—
At the end of our path a liquescent
  And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of which a miraculous crescent
  Arose with a duplicate horn—
Astarte’s bediamonded crescent
  Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said—”She is warmer than Dian:
  She rolls through an ether of sighs—
  She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the tears are not dry on
  These cheeks, where the worm never dies,
And has come past the stars of the Lion
  To point us the path to the skies—
  To the Lethean peace of the skies—
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
  To shine on us with her bright eyes—
Come up through the lair of the Lion,
  With love in her luminous eyes.”

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
  Said—”Sadly this star I mistrust—
  Her pallor I strangely mistrust:—
Oh, hasten!—oh, let us not linger!
  Oh, fly!—let us fly!—for we must.”
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
  Wings till they trailed in the dust—
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
  Plumes till they trailed in the dust—
  Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied—”This is nothing but dreaming:
  Let us on by this tremulous light!
  Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming
  With Hope and in Beauty to-night:—
  See!—it flickers up the sky through the night!
Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,
  And be sure it will lead us aright—
We safely may trust to a gleaming
  That cannot but guide us aright,
  Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.”

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,
  And tempted her out of her gloom—
  And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of a vista,
  But were stopped by the door of a tomb—
  By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said—”What is written, sweet sister,
  On the door of this legended tomb?”
  She replied—”Ulalume—Ulalume—
  ’Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!”

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
  As the leaves that were crisped and sere—
  As the leaves that were withering and sere;
And I cried—”It was surely October
  On this very night of last year
  That I journeyed—I journeyed down here—
  That I brought a dread burden down here!
  On this night of all nights in the year,
  Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber—
  This misty mid region of Weir—
Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber,—
  This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.”

A to Z : This Is Not A Personal Poem - Alex Dimitrov

It's week 4 of the A to Z Challenge!  I'm still running with my poetry-theme.  Hope you enjoy!

This Is Not A Personal Poem
Written by Alex Dimitrov

This is not a personal poem.
I don’t write about my life.
I don’t have a life.
I don’t have sex.
I have not experienced death.
Don’t take this personally but
I don’t have any feelings either.
The feelings I don’t have don’t run my life.
I have an imagination. I’m imagining it now.
This poem is concerned with language on a very plain level.
This poem stole that line from John Ashbery.
This poem wants you to like it,
please click “like.”
This poem was written during a recession.
I’m so politically conscious
the word “politics” is in my poem.
This is not a New York poem.
There’s not enough room for all the wars in this poem.
Gay marriage is now in this poem.
Have you liked this poem yet?
It was written in 2011 in New York and posted 11 minutes ago.
Would you sleep with the poet who wrote this poem?
Would you buy his book? Click here.
This poem loves language.
This poem has slept with other poems
written by poets who love language.
All poets love language.
Let’s talk about language while people die.
This poem cares a lot but wants you
to think that it doesn’t really care.
The speaker of this poem may have been
born in a former Communist country.
It may or may not matter.
I had an orgasm before writing this poem.
I have my sunglasses on while reading this poem.
Everyone is going to die
please don’t take it personally.
The world. The world.
The world is blood-hot and personal.
I stole that line from Sylvia Plath.
Put your money on this poem.
I love the money shot.
This is not a personal poem.
This poem is only about Alex Dimitrov.

A to Z : So You Want to Be a Writer? - Charles Bukowski

It's week 4 of the A to Z Challenge!  I'm still running with my poetry-theme.  Hope you enjoy!

So You Want to Be a Writer?
Written by Charles Bukowski

A to Z : Rebound Poem - Gregory Sherl

It is week 3 of Arlee Bird's A to Z Challenge.  I will continue my theme of poetry by posting a poem a day.  Hope you come back and check them out! 

Rebound Poem (as appeared in kill author)
Written by Gregory Sherl

I fake break-up with K so I can rebound with myself. Alone, I fog every mirror with my fake kissing. I am never thinking about the weather’s attitude when I dress for the day, but I am always finding myself offended by the afternoon rain. This is how I feel when I wake up: all lightning like. K writes a novel in my veins. The first line goes You will never have to worry about the wind again. I can’t read the rest, she’s covered it with skin that matches my skin. I tell her Tell me how it ends and I’ll trade you my pudding snack for four Oreos. She goes into the other room and I can smell her smiling at me. Big books scare me so I only read novels that are 472 words long. I am writing a poem called “Rebound Poem” and it’s going to be really fantastic when I finish it.

A to Z : Quinquagesima - Justine Nicholas

It is week 3 of Arlee Bird's A to Z Challenge.  I will continue my theme of poetry by posting a poem a day.  Hope you come back and check them out!

 

Quinquagesima
Written by Justine Nicholas

                                            —To Toni Williams (1944-2004)

In another year, perhaps, we could recall
all those seasons we had chosen not to mourn
today.
         A single lily spreads, thrust from mud
where snow covered your blood. This is the way
spring would come, you said

                                      fifty days after

you left. Perhaps the cold will return once more
after the rain
                  after fifty days

                                      after you leave again.

A to Z: Pull A String, A Puppet Moves - Charles Bukowski

 It is week 3 of Arlee Bird's A to Z Challenge.  I will continue my theme of poetry by posting a poem a day.  Hope you come back and check them out! 

 

Pull A String, A Puppet Moves
Written by Charles Bukowski
 
each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
including love,
rest on foundations of sand -
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a boy in Hong Kong
or a blizzard in Omaha ...
can serve as your undoing.
all your chinaware crashing to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter
and you'll be standing, drunk,
in the center of it and she'll ask:
my god, what's the matter?
and you'll answer: I don't know,
I don't know ...

A to Z : Other People's Problems - Tyler Gobble

It is week 3 of Arlee Bird's A to Z Challenge.  I will continue my theme of poetry by posting a poem a day.  Hope you come back and check them out! 

Other People's Problems (as appeared on madswirl)
Written by Tyler Gobble 

I am down with OPP:
bring me your problems
people, I am here
for you, I am here.
Dead mother? yes
Cheating lover? yes
Public intoxication arrest?
yes yes yes. See, I am only
me when I am with you
telling me your problems.
These are the reasons why:
One, I think I love you.
Two, you have this power
over me, as a result
of my deep infatuation
with people like you: human beings.
They have this complicated ball
inside them, like a dust cloud
of nagging hope.
Three, I’ve never been good with
empty space.
Let me help you help me help you.
There is peace somewhere
between us. If we touch each other
I know we can find it.

A to Z : Nikki - Dante Basco

It is week 3 of Arlee Bird's A to Z Challenge.  I will continue my theme of poetry by posting a poem a day.  Hope you come back and check them out!  

Nikki 
Written by Dante Basco

Nikki : Dante Basco (Def Poetry Jam) from Moonroof Martinez on Vimeo.

Yes, that is Rufio.
 

A to Z : Mad Girls Love Song - Sylvia Plath

It is week 3 of Arlee Bird's A to Z Challenge.  I will continue my theme of poetry by posting a poem a day.  Hope you come back and check them out! 

 
Mad Girls Love Song
Written by Sylvia Plath

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

A to Z : Leisure, Hannah, Does Not Agree with You (2) - Hannah Gamble

  It is week two of Arlee Bird's 2013 A to Z Challenge!  For the challenge (and National Poetry Month) I have decided to post a poem for each letter of the alphabet!

 

Leisure, Hannah, Does Not Agree with You (2) (as appeared at The Poetry Foundation) 

Written  by Hannah Gamble 

—After Catullus

My house disgusted me, so I slept in a tent.

My tent disgusted me, so I slept in the grass. The grass disgusted me,

so I slept in my body, which I strung like a hammock from two ropes.

My body disgusted me, so I carved myself out of it.

 

My use of knives disgusted me because it was an act of violence.

My weakness disgusted me because “Hannah” means “hammer.”

The meaning of my name disgusted me because I’d rather be known

as beautiful. My vanity disgusted me because I am a scholar.

 

My scholarship disgusted me because knowledge is empty.

My emptiness disgusted me because I wanted to be whole.

My wholeness would have disgusted me because to be whole

is to be smug. Still, I tried to understand wholeness

 

as the inclusiveness of all activities: I walked out into the yard,

trying to vomit and drink milk simultaneously. I tried to sleep

while smoking a cigar. I have enough regrets to crack all the plumbing.

I’m whole only in that I’ve built my person from every thought I’ve ever loved.

A to Z : Keen, Fitful Gusts Are Whisp'ring Here & There - John Keats

  It is week two of Arlee Bird's 2013 A to Z Challenge!  For the challenge (and National Poetry Month) I have decided to post a poem for each letter of the alphabet!

 

Keen, Fitful Gusts Are Whisp'ring Here & There
Written by John Keats

A to Z : Just lost, when I was saved! - Emily Dickinson

 It is week two of Arlee Bird's 2013 A to Z Challenge!  For the challenge (and National Poetry Month) I have decided to post a poem for each letter of the alphabet! 





Just lost, when I was saved!
Written by Emily Dickinson

Just lost, when I was saved!
Just felt the world go by!
Just girt me for the onset with Eternity,
When breath blew back,
And on the other side
I heard recede the disappointed tide!

Therefore, as One returned, I feel
Odd secrets of the line to tell!
Some Sailor, skirting foreign shores—
Some pale Reporter, from the awful doors
Before the Seal!

Next time, to stay!
Next time, the things to see
By Ear unheard,
Unscrutinized by Eye—

Next time, to tarry,
While the Ages steal—
Slow tramp the Centuries,
And the Cycles wheel!