Tag: poem

Calls for Submissions: Instant Noodles Literary Review 2025

Published on by Nadja Maril1 Comment

Nadja Maril, author of RECIPES FROM MY GARDEN, is one of the founders of Old Scratch Press

The Editors of Instant Noodles Literary Review, published three times a year, have announced the themes for 2025: Current, Sanctuary and Gravy.

Edited by members of the Old Scratch Short Form Collective who have volunteered their time, submissions are free. The Instant Noodles submission box which you can access through Duotrope is filling up fast.

While artists and writers selected for publication receive no financial renumeration, the publishers and editors do their utmost to promote the work in each issue. Instant Noodles nominates for industry prizes, Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. One of the magazine’s promotions is a zoom reading, giving contributors around the world a chance to meet.

Published three times a year, the magazine is posted online for everyone to read. One of the biggest reasons work gets rejected, is that writers don’t follow submission guidelines and familiarize themselves with the publication.

In addition to Visual Art and Multimedia Creations, the magazine publishes Prose & Poetry

Photo by Anni Roenkae on Pexels.com

Instant Noodles focuses on SHORT pieces. Short work 500 and 750 words in length can be powerful. If you are submitting prose, whether is it hybrid, nonfiction, or fiction, the word limit is 1000 words or less. 

All work must be original and must belong to the author. Works that have been previously published will not be considered. Stories must be complete and self-contained (i.e., do not submit chapters of a larger work). 

NOTE: Accepted works will be published as submitted without editing; as such, in addition to the originality of the work itself, we are looking for manuscripts that are clean and press ready. Be sure to review your grammar, spelling, tenses, proper punctuation, and other general rules of the written word before hitting “Send.” Work should be submitted through Duotrope as a Microsoft Word file (when it is poetry, drama, NF or fiction) as 12-point New Times Roman, double-spaced (single-spaced for poetry submissions). All other types of work have details as to their file types on the Duotrope page.

Connect to the Theme

The Editors request that submissions should have a connection to one of the themes for which they were submitted:  Current, Sanctuary and Gravy—and labelled as such.

They are looking for more submissions in the categories of creative nonfiction, drama, multimedia and visual art.

“When I’m reading poetry submissions for Instant Noodles,” Says contributing Poetry Editor Gabby Gilliam, “I’m looking for poems that concisely fit our theme and resonate. I want lines that linger in my mind long after I’m finished reading.

As a contributing editor, I suggest it is never too early to start contemplating ideas associated with our spring theme, current, as well as the subsequent themes that follow. What ideas does the word current evoke for you? Are you thinking about being hip, cool and up on “current” events or are you traveling on an air “current.”  Where does the word take you?

Try writing a story about yourself, something you observed, or something entirely imaginary. Create a video, a picture, combine two mediums.

Work should be publication ready

Do not submit until your piece is ready. Have you read your piece out loud and checked for misspellings and grammar mistakes? Does it fit the theme and are you ready to share it with the world?

The deadline for the spring issue with the theme Current is March 16th.  We look forward to reading your work!

Nadja Maril is the author of Recipes from my Garden, Old Scratch Press, September 2024.

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The Runaway Christmas Train

Published on by rdfauthorLeave a comment

When I was a little boy, my father would assemble a huge train table in our living room next to the Christmas tree. The table was easily ten feet wide by ten feet long, and three feet high. In addition to the tiny figures of the villagers, quaint tiny homes and buildings, working street lights, fake trees and assorted trains that adorned the table, crepe paper in a red brick pattern was attached to all sides of the table. The paper ran from the sides of the table all the way down to the carpet, creating the illusion that the table was supported by brick walls all around.

Or from my point of view, the perfect fort wherein I could hide.

The strategy was to sneak underneath the table after my parents had gone to sleep and wait for Santa to place the presents under the tree. I actually made it to my secret hiding place each year, carefully separating the folds of the brick crepe paper back in place behind me so that nothing looked out of place.

And like clock work, every year I would promptly fall asleep before sighting Santa.

So that is the memory, suspended in time for more than forty years, like an image trapped within an icicle that never melts.

The reality is starkly different.

The old house was sold many years ago, the train table dismantled and perhaps rotting in some unknown wood pile, and the assorted engines, passenger cars, and cabooses stored away in bubble wrap for another generation.

Things are different with my wonderful parents as well. Mom passed away in 2022, and Dad is struggling every day in a memory care unit.

Despite all of these life changes, I still hold on to this memory, this specific icicle of time has not yet eluded my grasp.

My attempt to preserve this memory in poetry appears below. The poem is called “Christmas Eve from Under the Train Table” and first appeared in The Hot-Buttered Holidays Issue of Instant Noodles in 2021.

I hope you can find something special in my memory as well.

Happy Holidays,

-R. David Fulcher

CHRISTMAS EVE FROM UNDER THE TRAIN TABLE

There I was,
and there I would remain,
Expectant and curled-up beneath the great trains
which had whistles and steam and a radio tower that lit up.
The trains were sleeping, but my breath replaced their din,
Escaping my lips like an anxious child.

It is not the darkness I fear.
I fear that my mischievous breath will plume forth and collect Itself into a crystal ball,
and then roll out from under the brick-red crepe paper,
a great red marble full of my embarrassment.

The clock clangs midnight.
I can hear my parents through the walls,
their secret laughter like soft explosions
accompanied by the faint swish and whisper of wrapping paper.

Now I can their slippered arrival.
My heart pummels in my chest with incessant fluttering,
sick of this distant observation,
insane with the knowledge that all this espionage is for me.

Romance vs Reality in the Writing Life: 9 Tips to Help Tackle Reality

Published on by Ellis ElliottLeave a comment
I have a trove of old New Yorker cartoons I’ve saved in a folder since forever. The premise of this one (from the fabulous cartoonist Roz Chast) is the romanticized version of Thoreau’s life vs. the reality. My argument was always “of course he can simplify. He has no kids, no partner, and his mom does his laundry.”

I think we also can hold that same romanticized ideal for writing.

“I WON’T BE COMING IN TODAY.
I’M JUST NOT FEELING IT”

…was the text my friend received, canceling their appointment together 15 minutes before it was to start. What bravado, I thought. What mixture of honesty, courage, chutzpah, and downright rudeness is this?

And how many times have I felt like saying the exact same thing? Especially when it came to staying motivated to finish, organize, edit, submit separate poems, and find a publisher for my poetry collection. Not today. I’m just not feelin’ it.

The option is to feel it. Even when you really, really don’t want to. There are so many other demands on our time, and I am easily overwhelmed if I only look at the long game. I have to break it all down into bite-size “feelable” pieces.

What that looks like for me is:

1.    I can sit here for 10 minutes and freewrite with one of the 500 prompts I find and keep and never do anything with. 

2.    I can spend 10 minutes on the website Duotrope to find 5 more places to submit my poems. 

3.    I can print out all these poems, spread them out on the bed, and figure out how they make sense together. 

4.    I can spend 5 minutes on an email to “make the ask” of a trusted someone to read my work. 

5.    I can take a break from it all and not beat myself up about it.

6.    I can “manage the myth” that my work is valuable and someone, somewhere will love it, until it becomes the truth. 

7.    I can submit the poetry collection to contests of all shapes and sizes.

8.    I can make an effort to forge connections in the writing world. I can join writing groups, create writing groups, take classes and workshops, reach out for help, or join a collective. You never know when you might meet the right person that could lead to your book publication (like I did!). 

9.    I can endure countless rejections, knowing the subjectiveness inherent in the game, and know to never take anything personally. 

10.  Do it again and again. Hang in there, until what’s foreign becomes familiar and the stars align, because you kept at it. And as for the end result, sometimes knowing whatever you have done is enough.

And what a divine feeling that is, indeed.

By Ellis Elliott—Thanks for Reading! Join me at https://bewildernesswriting.com/ Find my poetry collection, Break in the Field, from Old Scratch Press, on Amazon. My new cozy mystery fiction novel, Fire Circle Mysteries: A Witch Awakens will be available in Spring 2025.

Making Moments Count

Published on by gilliampoetLeave a comment

One of the things I like best about poetry is its ability to capture the beauty of a single moment, even if it’s not something that would normally be seen as beautiful. At its heart, poetry is emotional storytelling. A moment becomes significant when it is infused with feeling—joy, sorrow, nostalgia, or wonder

Last year, I edited an issue of Instant Noodles with the theme of ‘instant.’ I was looking for poems that captured that exact essence of poetry that appeals so much to me. I wanted the beauty of the grief or the joy of a single moment captured in a poem. It’s probably my favorite issue of Instant Noodles that I’ve edited to date. I think the poems we published in that issue were the kind that will resonate long after reading them because every reader shares that moment with the poet.

That issue of Instant Noodles can be read for free here . I highly recommend giving it a look.

Life is filled with fleeting moments—those golden, mundane, or bittersweet slices of time that often pass unnoticed. But poetry has the unique ability to crystallize these moments, transforming them into something timeless and profound. Capturing moments in poetry is about taking the ephemeral and making it eternal.

Here’s a poem of mine that captures the moment when I held my son for the first time. It appeared in the Instant issue of Instant Noodles.

Contraction

After hours of flesh seizing 
muscles finally relaxed 
and I cradled a fresh universe 
in my arms, puckered face 
already rooting for food. 

My world imploded, contracting 
until nothing existed but this 
one tiny fist raised at the audacity 

of the air to be so dry 
the lights so bright 
the scream that replaced the rhythm 
of my familiar heartbeat 

and I traced constellations 
across freckled skin as I eased
into a new center of gravity.

The Power of Specificity

Great poetry thrives on specificity. Think of a single red leaf falling on a crisp autumn afternoon or the smell of fresh bread wafting through an open window. These details evoke emotions and anchor the reader in the poet’s world. Poetry doesn’t need grand metaphors to capture the essence of a moment. Sometimes, a simple, honest line is more powerful than elaborate language.

Share Your Moments

Because life is poetry, everyone is a poet. You can write about your own moments and shape your memories into poems. Then, you’re sharing that moment with others. Your words let them feel what you felt and maybe even remind them of their own special memories.

Poetry helps us slow down and notice what’s around us. It takes the little things that we might normally ignore and makes them important. So grab a notebook, start noticing the world, and turn your moments into poems that last forever.

Secrets to Publishing Your First Creative Work

Published on by wyn001100Leave a comment

Founding member Robert Fleming share his insights on How to be successful at publishing your first creative writing work

You’ve put it on your bucket list to be a published author. Well done. Who are you doing this for: yourself, others, or both?

Yours truly, without even knowing, wanted to be published. In 1973, at age ten, I published text on the bathroom brick wall of Roslyn Elementary School in Westmount, Montreal, Quebec. My work looked like the work following but also had curse words and genitalia graffiti.

Bathroom Wall Poem

This talented toilet author made choices: what topic to write about (poo poo), what language to use (English), where to publish (on the bathroom on brick), who the publisher is (self), what genre (poetry), what poetry devices to use (rhyme, humor, 5-lines), and to not disclose the author name (anonymous).

Where you target your publication is guided by your confidence (courageous or timidity) about having other human see and judge your work. If you are feeling timid like the Cowardly Lion, publish your writing in your personal diary. Be sure to select a diary with a lock and attach the key to your necklace that you wear even when you shower.

Cowardly Lion from movie Wizard of Oz

If you get a little courage, self-publish your work on social media (Facebook), like I did in the following work.
On Facebook, other humans will see your work, but you will not experience the review/selection of a judge who accepts or rejects your work.

https://fourfeatherspress.blogspot.com/2024/09/40-poets-being-published-in-doors-of.html

If you find the courage of Joan of Arc, send your work to a publication where work is selected by an editor.

Joan of Arc

Tips for setting yourself up for your best chance of publication acceptance
• For your first publication, select a publication that has a fifty-percent or greater acceptance rate like vanity press where you will have to buy a book that could cost $50, an organization newsletter like a religious one you are a member of or a school you are an alumni of.
• Read the target publication and only submit to them if they publish work similar to yours (genre: poetry, theme: love)
• Read the submission directions and follow them: sometimes there is a theme like love. When there is a theme only submit work that is the theme requested.

Ready? Take a bid breath in, hold three seconds, exhale. What is your publication confidence: timid or courageous. Go forth.

 
Yours Truly is:

Robert Fleming, a contributing editor of Old Scratch Press.

Who published an Amazon best seller visual poetry book: White Noir.

an editor of the digital magazine Instant Noodles

and the creator of an upcoming magazine cover for Tell-Tale Inklings #7, to be released Autumn, 2024. Visit Tell-Tale Chapbooks on Facebook.

Exploring the Intersection of Sports and Poetry

Published on by rdfauthorLeave a comment

October is a sports lover’s dream. Most of the major leagues are in full swing, from the NBA, NFL to the NHL. There are college football games every weekend, and even the crisp Fall air makes it feel like football weather.

So what does this have to do with poetry?

There are some cases, perhaps uncommon, where sports and poetry intersect. While in school, I was introduced to the excellent baseball-related poem “Casey at the Bat” by the poet Ernest Lawrence Thayer. From the roar of the crowd to the “Strike!” being called by the umpire, Thayer does a remarkable job of transporting the reader to that fateful match in Mudville. The poem culminates with perhaps its most famous line: “But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out.”

In college my friends and I would play pickup basketball on the courts on campus. These were disorganized gatherings with teams hastily assembled at the last moment, but these were some of my favorite memories from my college years.

My poem below is an attempt to recapture some of those moments. Unlike “Casey at the Bat”, there was much joy to be found in College Park during those amateur games.

This was written during my college years, and I don’t know if I could write this today, or even should write something like this today, as this poem is full of rough edges and not overflowing with beautiful language.

However, that is what I think I love about it. Much like our simple attempts at basketball all those years ago, the poem is pure and raw, even somewhat unfinished. Ah, the folly of youth!

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

So without further introduction, I hope you enjoy my poem “Hoops”.

Hoops

It wasn’t the easy, fluid style of play you see on TV,
It was the jerky, nervous style of amateurs
played on asphalt several feet away from where I was sitting.
My shorts had ripped horrendously down the back during the last game,
but that really didn’t matter in the big scheme of things,
and besides, the jocky guy Chris would have never
picked me to play after screwing up the last game so badly.
An observer watched the game from the other side of the court, grinning to himself secretly.
Perhaps he was happy to see the different bodies working so well together, Van, the Vietnamese guy; Joy, the Indian; Greg the African American and Danny the Anglo; or perhaps that was just what I wanted to see.

Chris the jock made a three-pointer, and murmurs of approval such as, “Good shot, man” or “Nice one, Chris” fill the air, replacing the sound of the tennis shoes against the pavement.
I never questioned Chris’ basketball prowess.
It was his attitude that puzzled me.
I wanted to shake him and say, “Hey, Chris! Listen to what I’m saying, man! You’re just a pebble in the stream, man! Just a lowly grain of salt! This shot won’t change the world, dig?”
But you can’t tell a guy like Chris something that big.
He would just laugh it off and call you a stinkin’ liberal hippie, and go about his business of shooting politically correct jump shots, while I would go about my business of trying to change the things that couldn’t be changed.

-R. David Fulcher, OSP Founding Member

The Healing Power of Poetry

Published on by Nadja MarilLeave a comment

By Virginia Watts

Poetry is an old art form dating back to ancient Greece. Why has it been with mankind so long? For one thing, writing and reading poetry is good for us. It allows us to manage our emotions which in today’s complicated and divided world can be an overwhelming task. During the recent pandemic many literary journals called for submissions about their experiences during the pandemic. Many poets answered the call, and no doubt felt better for it.

During the months of lockdown, people all over the world lost many things. We were suffering. Some of us lost loved ones, some of us were very ill ourselves. We all lost our normal sense of community, isolated as we were. Humans aren’t meant for isolation. Many people were lonely. Things we enjoyed such as travel, comradery in an office or school setting, had to be put on hold. Writing poetry and sharing poems created a bond among people when it was sorely needed.

 As it turns out, poetry can be a powerful healer. Rhythmic language is soothing. Think of a lullaby. Poetry also helps us contemplate and reflect our lives back to us. Through poetry, we learn about different cultures and histories which helps us to stop focusing on ourselves and leads to a better understanding among peoples.

 Through poetry we can stop to appreciate and experience what is beautiful in our world or share a poet’s experience with something we are also struggling with. This improves our mood. Poetry is often read to hospitalized children to reduce their fears and worries. Additionally, reading poetry out loud has been shown to slow breathing and help a person relax.

            So, three cheers for all the healthy things poetry does for the human body and spirit. During the pandemic I remember reading this famous poem by Maggie Smith. It has stayed with me.

Maggie Smith, poet

Good Bones

By Maggie Smith

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.

Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine

in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,

a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways

I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least

fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative

estimate, though I keep this from my children.

For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.

For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,

sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world

is at least half terrible, and for every kind

stranger, there is one who would break you,

though I keep this from my children. I am trying

to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,

walking you through a real shithole, chirps on

about good bones: This place could be beautiful,

right? You could make this place beautiful.

Copyright Credit:
Maggie Smith, “Good Bones” from Waxwing.  Copyright © 2016 by Maggie Smith.  Reprinted by permission of Waxwing magazine
 

Source: Waxwing magazine (Issue IX, Summer 2016) (2016)

To learn more about the writer/poet Virginia Watts, check out her short story collection https://www.amazon.com/Echoes-Hocker-House-Virginia-Watts/dp/1957224177/

Some Odes to Autumn

Published on by rdfauthorLeave a comment

By R. David Fulcher

Autumn has always held a special magic for me, a season in which the poet John Keats aptly described as “a season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.”

Indeed, if there is an hour for magic, it strikes in the crisp dawn of an early Fall day. And further, if magic has a language, surely its language is poetry.

So I find this an appropriate time to post some of my own verse (hopefully imbued with magic itself) for your reading pleasure.

The first poem is “Ode to the Night”, and it hints at the darker aspects of this time of year, a time when pumpkins cast you crooked smiles and ghosts and goblins are generally free to roam:

Ode to the Night

To the Night, the Night, the dark delight,

The children sleep soundly in gentle white,

Breathing in time with the Raven’s flight.

To the Night, the Night, the waxen moon,

Audience of one to the witches’ croon,

Driving the tides for the sailors’ doom.

To the Night, the Night, its starlit fires,

Which guide the ghosts from funeral pyres,

Which soften the Harpy to play the lyre.

I hope you enjoyed “Ode to the Night”, and at a minimum it puts you into the Halloween spirit!

My second poem is “Melinda”, a story of lost love, and although not directly a tribute to the season was nonetheless designed to evoke a haunted mood:

Melinda

Sometimes in the lonely hours

I would walk the hill

Leaving the clamor and din behind

For headstones gray and still,

As I neared the place where the dead did lie

I knelt and bowed my head

A fool is he who visits the graves

Without homage to the dead,

‘Melinda’ read the stone I sought

Melinda, my betrothed,

Only a thief as clever as Death

Could steal the health of Melinda, my love

Often I hear Melinda’s voice

Soft upon the breeze

I answer her call of eternal love

And grow hoarse among the trees.

I hope you enjoyed “Melinda”! Last but not least is an ode to a much maligned creature, a symbol of the undead, but in reality a beautiful animal that sustains our ecosystem. This last poem is called “The Bat”:

Photo by Photo By: Kaboompics.com on Pexels.com

The Bat

Taking inverted Sabbath in the caverns of Carlsbad

I measure time in locust-breath and calcite drip,

My bird-chest rising and falling with the gentle tides

Of this black carpet of brotherhood.

Footsteps fill my dreams,

Sun-bleached tourists groping into the cavern’s belly

To enter the sublime,

Their voices like a million valves releasing pressure.

For an instant they will recognize the face of God in this hard darkness,

The stalactite points of his beard,

The cascading rock formations of his brow,

And that fraction of animal intellect will rush forth,

Freed from concept and equation,

To join our ranks as we veer through this Jerusalem darkness

Toward dusk and sustenance,

Toward the amphitheater where they wait for their own departure.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed these odes to the season and wish all of you a sublime Autumn.

-R. David Fulcher, Founding Member of Old Scratch Press

Play a Game With Us and Win a Prize!

Published on by dianneP2 Comments

It’s the spooky season! Let’s play Exquisite Corpse!

“What,” you may ask, “is Exquisite Corpse, and how do I engage in such an outlandishly named game?”

Before we all get the vapors…

Exquisite Corpse is a collaborative poetry game that traces its roots to the Parisian Surrealist Movement. Exquisite Corpse is played by several people, each of whom writes a word on a sheet of paper, folds the paper to conceal it, and passes it on to the next player for his or her contribution.
In order to write a poem, participants should agree on a sentence structure beforehand. For example, each sentence in the poem could be structured “Adjective, Noun, Verb, Adjective, Noun.” Articles and verb tenses may be added later or adjusted after the poem has been written. The game was also adapted to drawing, where one participant would draw thehead of a figure, the next the torso, etc. The name “Exquisite Corpse” comes from a line of poetry created using the technique: “The exquisite corpse will drink the young wine.”
https://poets.org/text/play-exquisite-corpse

While we cannot share a piece of paper, we can, all the same, play the game. Please join us!

The rules for this game are as follows”

SUBMIT: one line of “poetry”

FORM: The line must be arranged to have these elements in THIS ORDER ONLY as the main elements:

Adjective, Noun, Verb, Verb, Adjective or Adverb (one only), Adjective, Noun

Punctuate (or not) as you see fit.

YES! You can add conjunctions, articles, etc., as needed, but the main words must be Adjective, Noun, Verb, Verb, Adjective or Adverb (one only), Adjective, Noun

So, this would work:

Happy frogs jumped and swam quickly, green sparks

Happy(adjective) frogs(noun) jumped(verb) and swam(verb) quickly(adverb), green(adjective) sparks(noun).

And this would not:

Frogs jumped happily and swam quickly making green sparks

Got it?

You do!

Send it to dianne@currentwords.com between now and October 29th at midnight PT, for publication on Halloween!

Make the email subject: Exquisite Corpse.

ONE entry per person!

PRIZES:

SUBMIT and you will be given a free digital copy of the OSP book of your choice!

Three lucky people, chosen at random by Robert Fleming and his random number generator, will be given a print (paperback) copy of the OSP book of his/her/their choice!

One Lucky Person (not publishing with CWP) will win a free 5-page edit from me!

OSP members and other people CWP publishes are welcome to join in, and can claim a free Kindle of their choice from OSP, but are not going to get one of the three free print books or the edit (so sorry! Let’s give those to our guests!).

YES, everyone who enters will be subscribed to OSP news through Current Words newsletter, which is sent out to email addresses one time almost every month. At the bottom of your first newsletter (and all the rest of them) is an unsubscribe button, and if you really don’t want to stay on the list, that will get you right off (Mailchimp don’t play.).Honestly, we’re not trying to bother you; we’re out to have fun!

So, let’s have fun!

Ooooo, you can already start dreaming of the OSP book you’re going to choose for your prize! Take a look at your options:

Catalog

Happy Fall, y’all, and Happy Halloween!

I cannot wait to read your exquisite corpse!

🙂 Dianne