Taking it to the stage | Let’s Talk About

April 3, 2015March 30, 2015Tamara Woods 3 Comments

I know a lot writers who do not enjoy going out on stage and sharing their work. I don’t feel like I”m the best at it, but after it’s happened, I do enjoy it. There’s something extremely satisfying about the immediacy in sharing my work with a crowd. I’ve done this via the stage in front of people and in a virtual setting. My question to you , dear poets, have you ever done an open mic night? If you have-how was it for you? Would you do it again? And if you haven’t-would you ever?

I’ll meet you in the comments!

Ardent!| Publishing Opportunity

March 5, 2015March 5, 2015Tamara Woods Leave a comment

Part of what we do here at The Reverie Journal is to tell you about opportunities to share your work.

Of course, we certainly hope you’ll still consider submitting with us for our magazine, anthology, or Write for Us submissions.

Today, let us introduce you to Ardent! It is a journal of poetry and art where are forms and styles are considered.

Learn more about their submission policy here.

Email: rimer777@gmail.com
Contact: Editor: Dillon McKinsey
Address:
302 Cripple Creek
Cedar Park, TX 78613

Party Girls Don’t Get Hurt

February 25, 2015February 25, 2015Tamara Woods 1 Comment

I’m the party girl, the smarty girl, that arty girl

That rock and roll child, toured with Nirvana

Born to be wild, dressed up in style

Party with rock stars, cool kids, out laws, in the raw

I’m the cool girl, the hot girl, the “it” girl, human tilt-a-whirl

The popular girl, wild child, live on the edge, crouched on a ledge

The sexy girl, men want to screw

Super talented chick, don’t you wish it were you?

♫ One two three drink

one two three drink

throw ‘em back till I lose count ♫

Envy me, copy me, fall for me; worship me

Beg for me, plead for me

If they want me they bleed for me

I’m the girl who takes all the chances, who dies everyday,

is reborn every moment, I’ll lead you astray

Pour me a drink and I’ll tell you my life

your envy so thick it could cut with a knife

White hot

Independent

Drinks are for free.

My options got options, don’t you wish you were me?

Dressed to wicked perfection in Jimmy Choo boots

Black leather and buckles in three different heights

Bold and

brassy

Inappropriate

Carefree

Druggy misadventures with Beasties and Flea

The Limelight

The Tunnel

The Mercer Hotel,

Partied in Vegas

New Orleans

Nashville was hell

♫ I’m gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier

I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist, like it doesn’t exist ♫

I’m the girl who’s shaking now, what have I done, what have I done?

I’m the girl who’s sobbing now, gotta unplug,

Hair matted down on one side

“just get home” on repeat

All those friends were not real they were props on my stage,

painted in the shattered strobe light now they all fade

Stop judging me, hating me, coveting my life

The years slipped through my fingers, a fool’s paradise

She’s the makeup smeared girl in a bathroom stall

vomiting out daddy issues against the back wall

Cutting white lines on the closed toilet seat

without smack in her veins she feels incomplete

Dance with me, sing with me, you’ll present like a king with me,

steal with me, deal with me; you won’t ever heal with me

The party girl’s wrapped in layers of numb

anesthetized to the hilt with cocaine and rum

Escaping at dawn from a loft I don’t know

How did I end up downtown? Did all of us go?

Remember that time she was sectioned in Queens?

She thought it was Manhattan or some kind of dream

A cop picked up her up for not knowing her way,

or where she was, who she was, or even what day.

Commited for 3 days for being insane –

a half ounce of coke does that to a brain

The hot MILF, the cool mom,

loses custody of her kid.

So cop a little more scag,

drop off the grid

Hot-bodied flame-haired

girl from the hood

She’s homeless in 6 months

But damn she looks good

♫ But I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down won’t open my eyes

Keep my glass full until morning light, ‘cos I’m just holding on for tonight ♫

Ready to fuck like a porn star, wanna have a good time?

send me your email I’ll fuck you online

Check your respect at the door cause you’re here to screw

and fuck my best friend, don’t mind if you do

Play with me, stray with me, put yourself on display with me

Stay with me, stay with me, I can’t bear another day of me

Play with me

Stay with me

Please

I can’t be alone I can’t seem to breathe

Post- party heart- crushing comedown at dawn

when the drugs are used up everybody is gone

Play with me

pray for me

Play with me

pray for me

The life of the party, she quietly seeks death

You’ve helped her this far – why not steal her last breath?

Play with me

Pray for me

Play with me

Pray for me

pray for me

Samara is the no-holds-barred, five times Freshly Pressed blogger at A Buick in the Land of Lexus. She mixes honesty with humor in high definition, first-person story telling. Samara is also a founding member of The Sister Wives blog. She lives in New Jersey with her son Little Dude, the coolest 11-year-old kid on the planet.

Follow her on Twitter and Facebook.

I Love Me, I Love Me Not

February 9, 2015December 3, 2014Tamara Woods Leave a comment

This weekend we’re celebrating one of those holidays people either love, or love to hate.

But in the spirit of love and romance and all those ooey-gooey feelings, I want you to write a love poem.

Hold on.

It’s not going to be that easy.

I want to challenge you to write a love poem from someone who loves you’s perspective. Did you catch that? That means a husband, girlfriend, partner, mother, grandfather, child, best friend, whoever you have in this world that loves you…You are going to write a love poem…to yourself…as if it were written by them.

Sound difficult? It is. It’s never easy to put yourself into someone else’s voice and try to write from their standpoint.

It’s even harder to write love poetry about yourself.

But I think you can do it. I KNOW you can do it.

And have you considered submitting to our Write for Us segment? We’d love to feature your work here on The Reverie! Click here for more information…

Remember, all entries must be linked back to this post with a pingback or by commenting by Friday at midnight EST. Saturday is the vote and Sunday the winner will be featured.

Photo Credit: the-psycrothic on deviantart

The Writer in My Head

February 4, 2015December 10, 2014Tamara Woods Leave a comment

The writer in my head has a name
But it is not mine
The person I saw buried six feet under
Lives behind my soulful eyes
In my blood I feel him
As I write the words that he has given me
I feel my feet hit the ground
But its to his kind beat
He is a leaf cascading to the ground
as I watch it with the eyes he gave me
He is the thought in my head
As I write down these words
And sing his mournful song

I like to keep my blog anonymous, as there is personal luggage on it that shouldn’t have a name attached to it. I write mostly about what I see and what inspires me. I believe that simplicity has more complexity than people may realize. My poems aim to extract the complexity and show the beauty in the rubble. The poem I submitted is about the person who inspired me and who continues to posthumously. You can find more of WordsAreDeadly’s work on their blog, here.

Photo credit: xmansonettex on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord

Inspired by…

February 2, 2015February 2, 2015Tamara Woods Leave a comment

Let an old poem inspire sometihing new and interesting from you. http://thereverjournal.com

It’s February and in the United States it’s Black History Month. Sunday was Langston Hughes‘ birthday and Google made a Google Doodle to honor him. This made me think about the Harlem Renaissance and how that influenced poetry.

But what does all of this have to do with you?

Well, my dear poet, let’s write something a little different this week. Let’s try writing a poem inspired by someone else. It’s not necessary to write about the same subject matter. I don’t want you to write something disingenuous or forced. It’s more interesting to read about your journey, your struggles. Make this one personal. Delve deep my friends.

Read this Langston Hughes’ poem, let the words seep into you…and see what comes forth.

Here’s The Negro Speaks of Rivers:

And here’s a song from The Harlem Renaissance to get you in the mood.

We aren’t doing the voting on Fridays anymore, however, we’re still reading and sharing each other’s work. That’s what this community is all about. Share this post with other poets, so we can grow together.

I Am My Mother’s Daughter

January 28, 2015December 7, 2014Tamara Woods 2 Comments

I am my mother’s daughter
I save glass jars from peppers and peaches
To use throughout the house for holding things
Like buttons, seeds, and leftovers.

I stay up late after the house is quiet
Finishing projects in sewing and words
Away from the darling needy children
And alone with the depths of my thoughts.

When I want to learn something
I read books about astronomy and birds
I know the knowledge will not help me at work
Or at home, but I want to know anyway.

I am my mother’s daughter because
I know there is no harm in knowing about
The world away from my own
Even if I never see it.

Elizabeth N. Love is a resident of Kansas, where the blue sky meets a flat horizon. She holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing from the University of Kansas and writes science fiction as well as poetry. When not writing, she is found chauffeuring two children to activities, cooking homemade meals, and practicing creativity in music, drawing, and needlework. You can learn more about her on her blog, here.

Photo credit: noach-b on deviantart / Design credit: Laura A. Lord