Magazine De-clutter 2 – giveaway and contest

Rightio, time to give away some more magazines. In honour of the start of winter (usually my most productive of the four seasons), I’m offering:

  • Imago 13:3  (2001) – a now-defunct Australian mag
  • The North 44  (2009) – a British mag
  • Poetry   CLXXVI:3 (June 2000) – an American mag (yes, that one)
  • Takahe 58  (2006) – a New Zealand mag
  • .

I’m willing to post these anywhere, so non-NZ readers, this is open to you as well. Your challenge is to write a short(ish) poem – no more than 31 lines – somehow using the following line:

out here in this solitude smelling of cedars

In case you’re wondering, the line comes from a poem by Barton Sutter, called “Night Fishing, Lake Polly”, which appears in the issue of Poetry that’s up for grabs.

Post your entry in the comments section, and a winner will be selected on the morning of Friday July 1st. (Yep, you get a whole month.)
Have fun!

17 Replies to “Magazine De-clutter 2 – giveaway and contest”

  1. Soliloquy

    amazing how
    out here in this leafy democracy

    out here in this solitude smelling of cedars
    treating me as any tree, the sky draws me up

    Greg O’Connell © 2011

  2. The Anthologian (spirited wood)

    “Split a piece of wood, and I am there.” [– Jesus, Gospel of Thomas]

    Out here in this solitude smelling of cedars
    I am fanned by the thumbs of transient readers
    who chop at this block; split, then seal it again;
    wearing the secret of binding thin through the grain.

    Oh! how I have suffered indeterminate nights;
    all in the hope that their eyes might alight,
    and respond to the yearning, in me ever turning
    to the tick of the shiver of my Maker’s quiver.

    . . .

    But now I’m arrested in steadier light,
    as the binding has split (all within their sight),
    so now I must peep at this curious pair;
    I study them from my shelf :
    all unaware.

  3. Brother Kawaka

    Out here in this solitude
    smelling of cedars

    he is a twisted monk
    his skin, the hide of a flagellant

    yet his wounds exude
    a fragrant chrism

  4. natural high

    as sure as the moon, the truth will out
    here in this solitude smelling of cedars

    we inhale their narcotic and don’t care about
    repercussions; we are languid as lotus-eaters

      1. Whoever’s elected ‘Clutter Winner’ – it’s been fun! Thanks again, Joanna. And thanks, Dwayne for ensuring that I was not just out here in this solitude…yelling for readers. 😉

  5. Little Song of Solace

    Out here in this solitude smelling of cedars
    an hour stretches as long as the coast,
    far-removed from the mall-engrossed:
    bigger! brighter! smarter! sweeter!
    or the suburbs where life is boiled, litre by litre,
    and only shops that are coffins are closed;
    where the ground itself is diagnosed
    malignant, in that season when the city is a soul-feeder.
    But here in this wild isolation the fractured self, so long unaddressed
    revives, expands to encompass flesh and bone
    and earth and sky, and spaces where raw forces coalesce;
    where the rain is in the breath is in the stone.
    You can find yourself out here, somewhere west
    of disorder; discover that certain stillness, discover home.

  6. Hi Joanna, just thought I should mention that the last line of my poem should be offset to the right of the colon, but still under it. Otherwise it came through in pretty good shape. Glad to see the autocracy is still in place

    1. Hi Dwayne,
      unfortunately I don’t seem to be able to make it stay that way – the html for comments doesn’t seem to be translating through past the edit screen.
      But ooooh, the autocracy jibe could cost you!

  7. Yeah, as hard as I try, I just can’t keep my mouth shut 😉 Lynne Truss calls my condition “self-appointed virtuous contrast”; it’s a bit like having Tourette’s, but for people who know some long words that annoy everybody. Whatever happens, “Out …”, was a lovely phrase to work with, and I look forward to the next one. 🙂

  8. Why! Milady! such a thought would surely be beyond the scope of possibility, and indeed, inconceivable to such a humble doggerel peddlar, as myself; and verily, in all effulgent pith, in the very depths of my own effervescent, and revelatory, brevity, I must confess my innocence 😉

Leave a Reply to Greg O'Connell Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: