Three Poems on Clear Poetry

Today I'm featured on Clear Poetry, one of my very favorite poetry sites.

  Clear Poetry

  Thank you, Ben Banyard! xx

Why What When Where How at The Norwich Radical

Today, my best friend's birthday, I have a piece up on The Norwich Radical.

Part of a series called Borderlines, it has to do with migration. Where home is.
Why What When Where How

Happy Birthday, Li!!!
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"Scavengers" on Writers for Calais Refugees

A poem of mine is up today on this amazing site, Writers for Calais Refugees:

KYMM COVENEY

Scavangers

Full moons charted silver
journeys across two seas

footsteps sunk in waveswept sand
driftwood beached in awkward bends

white stones, seaglass, purple shells
culled in dreamy disregard

laid out like polished teeth,
glazed eyes, two violet shoes.

Go. Spend a while.
View original

Launch of The Interpreter's House issue #60

Today is the launch of issue 60 of The Interpreter's House magazine, in Oxford, UK.


I have a poem in this issue, which looks like this:





and it can be purchased here


YAY!

101 Fiction: Misguided

Always pleased to have a story in 101 Fiction.

The September issue is taking place underground.


101 Fiction: Misguided

Day Tripper #NFFD Write-In

I wrote a piece of flash for the #NationalFlashFictionDay Write-In, and they were kind enough to include it in the blog. Lots of good writing over there.

http://thewrite-in.blogspot.com.es/2015/06/day-tripper-by-kymm-coveney.html

Bloomsday Haiku

sharp rain this evening
a nod of orange blossoms
on the ground

for Pep, always

13/8/66 - 16/6/13

143

National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month. This year I'm earning badges for poems with PoMoSco



Every day there's a new badge with instructions on creating a new found poem.
Find mine here. Tag #NaPoMo and play along.

The Kiss of Death

Consciousness hits as you’re fighting suffocation. Face down in a basement room of Dante’s Inferno, you’re flattened against a sea of bodies caught trying to roll over. You feel your lips press against the hollow below Yannick’s left ear. His good side.

 

Morgan’s 100-Proof Excuse

The pirates came, like every Tuesday. You know how they’d kidnap me, hie me away to some dive out on Rte. 128 and dump me on the lawn by the hydrangea in the morning. So I unlocked the liquor cabinet: shoot me.

101 Fiction: Entanglement

It's March, and there's a new issue of 101Fiction with thirteen stories on the theme of green.

"A tiny quantum of green fiction," says editor John Xero about mine.

101 Fiction: Entanglement

History Lesson: Schrödinger's Light

You all think you’d know what to do, when to do it. I’d like to see you try. Try not to see that nothing is illuminated, that no one’s walking up the path. You try leaving it on all night. Every night.

Did not make this week's grid, but in exchange was given a cooler title. Thanks Rowan!

They Didn’t Match My Jacket

When it finally occurred to me to glance up from my perfect crouch, the pole was headed straight at me. I leaned hard to the right, and there was the snow bank. Obviously, the rental guy gave me the wrong color boots.

Always Doesn’t Seem Like Such a Long Time, After All

His beard, grown as camouflage for a dove,

curves around the smile that widened just for me.

Gentle fingers squeeze hard between my ribs

for the photo, pull me in tight, make me gasp.

Taken, poof, in a rainbow-bursting flash of sunlight.

Names Blown Past

Really, there’s no need for light. Better to leave the curtain tangled. If that bulge in the middle seems to ripple, call it the wind. If the wind calls, listen. When it skulks by tinged in frost, it cries Mary. Screams Mary.

Honored to be chosen Editor's Pick by Rowan for this challenge : )

Before I Sleep

On the darkest evening of the year, I follow the downy-flaked trail out past the village. Between the woods and frozen lake, I locate the dollhouse. My sister can’t drag it any farther. Stopping here, we watch it fill up with snow.

Somewhere Not in the Hills of the Spanish Civil War

I was lying in bed without him, recalling how it used to be before Hemingway ruined it for all of us. There was a shuddering, and the night froze. Now I’m left hanging, forever facing Venus, butt of some juvenile cosmic joke.

Sundering

She sits as his last breath rises. His soul, energy, life-force hovers goodbye. No, she says. Rising, it disperses, turning into universe. No, she cries, how will I know you? Out near another galaxy it flinches. Gathers. Returns. Reenters her atmosphere. Ignites.