Voicemail Poems

Our hosts Logen Cure and I.S. Jones review their favs from our Fall 2017 issue! (Get caught up on Fall 2017 here: https://soundcloud.com/voicemailpoems/sets/voicemail-poems-fall-2017) This installment features poems by Kimiko Hirota, Austin Beaton, and Kai River Blevins. Music by TrueKey. (@truekey). >> The deadline to submit to our Winter Issue is December 1st: http://voicemailpoems.org/call >> Help us made more of these by supporting us on Patreon! http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems >> Review us on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemail-poems-.org/id847081003

I have spent a thousand years picking myself out of the middle of nowhere on an empty highway clutching fistfuls of fireflies to my eyes clawing poppy blossoms across a belly full of rabbits I dripped with peppercorns I salted the earth as if that would make the mud easier to swallow I buried the creatures with a pocket watch and a dead fish and mounds rose up the hills of my body a congregation of sparrows sang like nightingales as if that would bring me peace my ghost is mad Ophelia babbling in swampflower poltergeisting the highways and waiting for the next thud wooden dolls slapped out of my hands brings me walnut shells to curl into like that could keep me safe from waking up again in the cheekbone curve of a boy who does not know the difference between a raven and a writing desk between I’m sorry and

The voice spills / Over the telephone / Time morphed into frequency / And back again / A compression of sentiment / Unraveled by longing / It says: ‘hiiiii’ A conversation about nothing is spoken / The day’s errands / The planned social respite / A desire to lay roots too soon to build / Hidden within a sense of fear of the future / What lays beneath Beneath the telephone / Lies a manipulation so essential / Its how music to MRIs function / Called the Fourier transform / And as removed as you think math can be from philosophy / Well transform it into another domain / They are the same thing / What I mean to say / Is Fourier found a way to describe how something instantaneous / Is infinite / A pulse in time / Corresponding to a sinc function in frequency that stretches to infinity / Decaying, it’s limit approaching zero, reverberations felt less and less as you leave the instant behind but ever so present / Laid on top of each other like rain drops / Like a voice / Dancing in time But to get that voice ba

(after Jacqui Germain) Tells me that I’ve spent enough time antagonizing him, corrupting his divine name, condemning the thinly veiled violence in his bones. He demands that I forgive his unrelenting presence, forbids me from saying all that I’ve learned about him – like Man is the aftertaste of disgusted stares. or Man comes alive when hardened fist meets pliant ribcage, his laughter exposed by the sudden crack. or Man says my mouth is a broken levee, my voice an unwelcome flood (softly) wearing down the fang of him. or I know there is something powerful about queer blood. Why else would Man be drawn like a rabid beast to the iron of me? or Man begs silently for the warmth of desire, for open arms, for hands that no longer grasp at his throat. or Man is a leech, a broken mirror, a wounded animal – small and fragile and desperate and defeated. or Man has turned my family against me. Man has turned my family ag

In the morning, I stood up, sticky and sweaty. I walked to the fridge with weight. I felt a stillness. This house has been quiet since you left. When you were gone I slept on your side of the bed and didn’t wake up once during the night. There could only be two reasons— 1) Because your side is better than mine or 2) Because I sleep better when you are gone. When you were gone I cleaned the house and sat in silence. I read on the balcony while I grilled chicken wings in a marinade I had invented (You would have loved them). I slept naked. I didn’t flush the toilet every time. I danced. I had friends over for cherries and pistachios. I moved your chair to the other side of the room. I watched the fireworks. I smoked your weed. I listened to music. I stretched. I sang. I stayed up late. I fell asleep on the couch. I touched myself. I took a long shower. I fell asleep on the couch. I washed the dishes. I scrubbed the grill. I ate ice cream. I ate ice cream. I ate ice cream. I missed you mo

You said my name for the last time The night before you died Exhausted and terrified You lifted the oxygen mask from your mouth And said, hi jenn That was all you could muster So much hung in the air left unsaid. Hi jenn, I’m sorry. Hi jenn, it wasn’t your fault. Hi jenn, I shouldn’t have kicked you out. Hi jenn, you are a disappointment. Hi jenn, you did everything I wanted to do. Hi jenn, I’m jealous and scared and tired. Hi jenn, It’s almost over and I fucked up. Hi jenn, help me. Hi jenn, save me. Hi jenn, I’ll never give you the satisfaction of my goodbye. Hi jenn, pick up the pieces. --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PATREON: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/guidelines http://facebook.com/voicemailpoems http://twitter.com/voicemailpoems http://voicemailpoems.org/thepodcast

When I came into this world they said Welcome to the holy land The world is in your palm Just as you fit into your mother's Gave me a name which slid off tongues In a way too harsh for the American voice and Too soft for the Dominican palate I grew up longing for the day where My name never sounded like an apology Uncommonly Christian When I introduced myself to my theology course last year My professor gave me a look and said "Ah, that must be why you're here" My given name can translate to "sacrifice" and Coming out as trans has definitely felt that way as I Give away favorite clothes because dysphoria no longer allows them as I Endure the bite of a hypodermic needle every other week as I Still push down the discomfort of being a "daughter", "sister", "aunt" when I am just a person and I can feel the knife being twisted While my veins run cold The world stops as I Smile while they hug me and  Greet the ghost of who I used to be  They unmask me to my friends They sacrifice me and Making a home out of th

This time with Natives, not my old bougie choice Of American Spirits. I took up nail polish In Millennial Pink. I started mixing Sangria With Coca-Cola. I went to work and dipped in and out of lives, Looked at grandchildren peering out from wallets; I touched the shoulder of a man who drinks Elevated IPAs like he might die tomorrow. He might die tomorrow. He waits for the bus and stumbles outside. I was supposed to help him remember, But I got hypnotized by Chelsea Wolfe, that haunting: “How many years have I been sleeping?” But who listens to lyrics anymore? I give him a bag of Lay’s. I pat him On the shoulder. Softly, softly Driving home from the bar with Depeche Mode on, I can finally Hear my own tires taking me Home. Not anywhere I want to be. Not up in the mountains, where high Prairie flowers break your heart One by one. Too delicate. Was everything on Earth built to fail? A couple show me a video of a baby Learning to talk. We laugh. As I turn To wash the glasses, the detergent Slides up my

And it’s not only the dollar aisle or because you gave birth control to a couple ex-girlfriends or how you fed me Lexapro, a pill Kanye West rapped about in a studio probably not far from a Rite Aid in Los Angeles. Not just that five bucks buys me and a millionaire the same serotonin droplets spreading under the part of the scalp soft on a baby, a chemical that tells me I’m me returning like a rabbit angel with a cartoon halo floating back into near-corpse Bugs Bunny so he can keep eating carrots and talk like he’s from New York, & I can enjoy the smell of gasoline, the beauty of an extra paper clip given by a colleague or finding beach rocks and agates shaped like Nebraska. It’s not only the reliability of my favorite cashier, a ketchup red vest like the fun aunt at Christmas or the palm tree parking lot, the oranges glowing out the black branches, magneting the light from your Pluto blue sign like something that’d happen between a moon and a star. It isn’t primarily the ice cream I never eat but glad is t

The pink skies and dry air The blue tongues and dark secrets soften like chalk pastels on our fingerprints Remember picking up pinecones discovering the city by bike surprised by anything we could dig and bury Nine p.m. is fading The steepest sand hill is still sinking and your hair isn’t short anymore My teeth are straight and my tires are flat and your dog has been dead for years So we move on thinking we’re clever swimming against the tide toward our new fears We drive down one-ways in opposite directions remembering our swingset when country Taylor Swift plays We used to want each other’s happy stories the way adults like sob stories to donate to and feel better about themselves We used to hold up the moon with our feet, peace signs high popcorn stuck in our gums Photographs veiled with dust at the back of our drawers I’m beginning to sleep before midnight with the playroom black The door closed The dolls lay close but not touching --------------------------------------- SUPPORT US ON PAT

I have spent most of my life as a writer, spinning universes and microscope lenses, cosmic horrors, and hope. Intellectual treatise, statistical research, and internet rant. but despite this, and despite months of trying, I am shit at writing love poems. And you, you deserve love poems but convention and tradition offer me no council I mean, I could promise pull down the moon for you, and I’m sure you’d be impressed by my scientific prowess as I tear chapters from your favorite science fiction to build the world’s first tractor beam... But the minute I turn that thing on, oceans will pull back from distant shores and rush towards our coastal town killing hundreds of our friends and thousands of innocent fish somewhere in the vicinity of Tahiti, and I just don’t think expressing love with the mass murder of people ...and fish makes a whole lot of sense. You can call me unromantic, but no matter how fond of you I am, I just don’t think any one person is worth an extinction level event. I cou

Our hosts Logen Cure and I.S. Jones review their favs from our Summer 2017 issue! (Get caught up on Summer 2017 here: soundcloud.com/voicemailpoems/sets/voicemail-poems-summer-2017) This installment features poems by Mercedes Lucero, Daniel Barnum, and Bee Ulrich. Music by TrueKey. (@truekey). >> The deadline to submit to our Fall Issue is September 1st: http://voicemailpoems.org/call >> Help us made more of these by supporting us on Patreon! http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems >> Review us on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003

This week’s poems: >> “The Scenic Rout” by Nicole Jean Turner >> “thank you for supporting your local counseling and psychological services” by Chelsea Sieg >> “In Which Rachel Changes the Oil” by Em Taylor >> “Afterwards” by EJ Schoenborn >> “We Named the Dog Indiana” by Skyler Reed Hosted by Logen Cure! Thank you to our Patreon supporters! Please contribute to our project: >> http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems Subscribe via iTunes: >> https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003

This week’s poems: >> “the burning of knight von hohenberg with his servant before the walls of Zürich, for sodomy, 1482″ by Bee Ulrich >> “In a Dark Room, the Universe Was Calling Me” by Melissa Cerrillo >> “For My Grandmother, Who Kept His Last Name" by Chrissy Martin >> “Part Waters (Two of Cups)" by Daniel Barnum >> “Tankman" by Kyle Liang Hosted by Logen Cure! Thank you to our Patreon supporters! Please contribute to our project: >> http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems Subscribe via iTunes: >> https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003

This week’s poems: >> “New Orleans Poem” by Zoë Blair-Schlagenhauf >> "Frozen" by Elliott Ocean >> “Tomorrow Will Be Beautiful” by Mercedes Lucero >> “The summer of mourning” by TaneshaNicole >> “post talk” by alexis briscuso Hosted by Logen Cure! Thank you to our Patreon supporters! Please contribute to our project: >> http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems Subscribe via iTunes: >> https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003

This week’s poems: >> “I Am Nothing I Thought I'd Ever Be By Now" by Paulie Lipman >> “Demeter Speaks to Persephone After her Rape" by Melissa Rose >> “Untitled” by Indiana Pehlivanova >> “I Was Forcibly Removed from the Holy Land” by Alex McDonald >> “Lakes Hills Estates” by Ryan Nakano Hosted by Logen Cure! Thank you to our Patreon supporters! Please contribute to our project: >> http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems Subscribe via iTunes: >> https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003

Our hosts Logen Cure and Alexis Smithers review their favs from our Spring 2017 issue! (Get caught up on Spring 2017 here: https://soundcloud.com/voicemailpoems/sets/voicemail-poems-spring-2017) This installment features poems by Catherine Weiss, Jessie Lynn McMains, and Kit Travers. Music by TrueKey. (@truekey). >> The deadline to submit to our Summer Issue is June 15: http://voicemailpoems.org/call >> Support us on Patreon! http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems >> Review us on iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003 ~ About the Poets ~ >> Catherine Weiss lives in Western MA with her husband, two dogs, and a cat. Her poetry has also been published in Gravel Mag and Jersey Devil Press. Catherine is the founder and editor-in-chief of the podcast and lit mag Slamchop. Learn more at www.catherineweiss.com. >> Jessie Lynn McMains (aka Rust Belt Jessie) is the Poet Laureate of Racine, Wisconsin. They publish their prose and poetry in their own zines and their work has also appear

This week’s poems: “GAY INCANTATIONS” by Billy-Ray Belcourt “Exit Speech For Michelle: Last Supper At The White House” by Kelly Williams “model 3.5” by Catherine Weiss “In Which I am the Ouroboros” by Dorothy McGinnis “Peine Forte et Dure” (For the Women Who Love Giles Corey) by Caitlyn Gilvary Davidheiser Hosted by Logen Cure! Thank you to our Patreon supporters! Please contribute to our project: http://patreon.com/voicemailpoems Subscribe via iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003

This week’s poems: "Syracuse, Lullaby, V. 1" by Alexa Doran "Dancefloor/Sanctuary/Office/Bedroom" by Kay Kassirer "Exeunt" by Jessie Lynn McMains "honey is a verb" by Isobel O'Hare "Untitled" by Meron Afutu Hosted by Logen Cure! Thank you to our Patreon supporters! Please contribute to our project: patreon.com/voicemailpoems Subscribe via iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003

Thank you to our Patreon supporters! Please contribute to our project: patreon.com/voicemailpoems This week’s poems: "POSSESSED BY CAITLYN JENNER’S GHOST / I NEED TO LEARN TO TAKE A JOKE" by Jo Gehringer "WHY IS EVERYONE PARTYING?" by Luis Neer "sun models" by Jude Moore "Jesus is as good a replacement for crack as any, I guess" by Kit Travers "Sally In Paris (for Sally Hemings, 1773 – 1835)" by Evelyna Ekoko-Kay Hosted by Logen Cure! Subscribe via iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/voicemailpoems/id847081003