MTPR

poetry

In the summer of 1955, sixteen-year-old Tommy Cadigan finds himself helpless in the face of desire, especially when the man that wears the face is his high school swimming coach, a young Korean War veteran who is still recovering from receiving a “blue ticket” discharging him from the military because of his homosexuality. Unsure if his infatuation is returned, Tommy distracts himself with the attention of a local bully, who hustles older men at night besides a decrepit zoo in Boise’s park. Tommy soon finds himself in the midst of a scandal that threatens to ignite the entire town…and his life will never be the same.

Sam and Kate figured that good writing served with a slice of pie and a shot of whiskey would create an energized atmosphere uncommon at literary events. The contributors, drawn mainly from the west, but not exclusively, responded with surprising, funny, heartbreaking, fantastically written stories and poems. The book will include a smattering of pie recipes and whiskey-centric cocktails. Look here for tasty literary servings.

Robert Lee / Foothills Publishing

  Companions

The plants in my bedroom,

I forget their names, are dead.

Dried up, both of them.

Negligent homicide, if you must

call it murder. I'll confess

that I enjoy their corpses.

Dried leaves don't cry out for anything.

Brown vines don't climb everything in reach.

A plant will dominate, if you lavish

too much water on it. I never do.

These two creatures are suspended

animation, one completely brown

his phallic stalk, shrunken.

Long leaves, curled and coarse

Rose Lincoln

"I think we all actually need poetry. We need the immersive experience in our humanity that poetic language can give us. We are all looking for these immersive experiences that allow us to contemplate what matters in our lives." -- Elisa New 

In this kinetic new poetry from Sherwin Bitsui, characters live in a state of fading and blurring, appearing as though photographed or filmed. Dissolve hums with the coexistence and dissonance of landscape and waste, crisis and continuity—with Navajo thought inherent to the movement of the book. Wielding one of the most deeply intuitive, uncompromising poetic voices of our time, Bitsui marries past and present, urban street and wilderness, "the afterbirth of sirens glistening over him."

Kathy Jones

"What Does Not Return, is a rare account of the experience we have come to call, rightly, care-giving. With ritual attentiveness, in small, deeply considered gestures, in words exchanged at the altar of grief, she shows us what it might mean to honor and celebrate what is given to us and what is taken away." -- Melissa Kwasny

Missoula Writing Collaborative

On August 20, 2018 at 4:30 p.m., board members of the Missoula Writing Collaborative installed the kiosk stand and laptop containing the Missoula Children’s Poetry Map in the children’s section of the Missoula Public Library. The digital map features more than 500 poems written by fourth-grade students about places in Missoula. Accompanying the poems are colorful drawings and recordings by the students. The poems cover well-known Missoula landmarks: the M and L trails, the North Hills, as well as lesser-known areas, such as Skyview Park, Rainbow Hill or Moose Can Gully. 

The map was a collaboration between Caroline Patterson, executive director of the Missoula Writing Collaborative, Ken Wall and Kyle Balke, President of Geodata Services, and Greg and Chris Robitaille of Xplorer Maps. It was funded by a $25,000 National Endowment Our Town Grant as well as a $10,000 grant from the Llewellyn Foundation. The Missoula Public Library and Missoula County Schools were also partners.

BkMk Press

"I think my voice. . .comes partly at least from things I’ve been told not to do in poetry. I feel like forever, throughout my life as a poet, I’m the type of person who if you tell me not to do something I will find a way to do it. But I’ll want to do it well so I can prove that the person who told me not to do it was wrong." --Henrietta Goodman

Zan Bockes

For the Lost

 

You’ve been turning right

at every corner; the sooty night

 

tangles your hair.  If the moon were out

you’d be making wishes, but doubt

 

strings lines across your eyes,

makes neon signs a disguise

 

for gold.  The wind is so cold it cuts

like dry ice wires, struts

 

and whips the newspapers down

the street in rolling stampede.  You drown

 

your teeth in Old Crow, bite

the sorrow on your tongue in two, tight

Red ruby embers burn,

Degradation in the form of creation,

It twists and winds and turns. 

-- Derek Hann

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