How to join Whisper & the Roar or submit guest writing

Are you a fan of exceptional writing? Are you a writer of poetry, prose and micro fiction?  Do you consider yourself a feminist?

Whisper and the Roar is currently recruiting new Collective Members as well as guest writers and putting the call out for previous Whisper writers to submit again

Submission Guidelines for Whisper and the Roar:

  • Send a short piece (poetry or prosetry) of your original writing (PDF or Word) attached to an email that includes your real name as well as the name you publish your writing under.  Although we prefer previously unpublished work, we will consider published work as long as it has ONLY been published on a blog. You must own the rights to any work you submit to Whisper and the Roar
  • Include a very short biography that includes a link to your website/social media site where readers can go to read more of your writing.
  • Please attach a suggested image for each piece of writing that you submit
  • Understand that you will not be paid for your submission. We are a small collective, and can only offer support in building your platform and showing your work to our own audience. This also includes promotion on our Facebook page.
  • Allow up to 2-4 weeks for a response.
  • Send submissions with Whisper and the Roar in the subject line to: her.red.pen.wordsmithing@gmail.com

We are looking for top caliber submissions that can stand up with our Whisper and the Roar regular contributors. If you are not familiar with Whisper and the Roar, please visit the site. If you have written for us before, please get in touch, we value our former authors.

What does it mean to become a member of Whisper and the Roar Literary Collective?

Collective members are asked to:

  • submit one piece of original writing a month for publication on W&R
  • reblog their W&R pieces to their individual blog/social media site
  • respond to reader comments on their W&R posts
  • Show their support for other W&R Collective members by visiting the site regularly, reading other writer’s work and liking and commenting as they are so moved.

Winner of the Spring Robinson/ Mahogany Red Lit Prize 2020-Megha Sood

I’m thrilled to share this news that my poem “Peace –  A Metaphor For Denial” has been chosen as the First-place winner in the adult category for the Poetry Month Challenge 2020. The Adult Prize is also known as the Spring Robinson/Mahogany Red Lit Prize. The poem will receive a publication in the next edition of Poetry Diversified 2020. This year Poetry Matters Prize also reached the 20th year of its inception.

I’m really thankful to the entire team of the Poetry Matters Prize for giving me this opportunity.

Happy Blogging!!

Megha Sood

 

I Am More Than Breath and Bone: Georgiann Carlson

I am so much more than breath and bone
I am Goddess
I am fire and strength
I am mind and heart
I am fearless and brave
I am fury and rage
I am glorious in my anger
I am sinner and savior
I am beauty and summer days
I am snow covered mountains
I am clear spring water
I am one with nature
I am every rainbow ever seen
I am thunderstorms loud and WILD
I am uncontrollable
I am gentle rain and raging floods
I am the giver of life
I am a living spirit
I am joy
I am Death
I am the beginning and the end
I am freedom
I am MAGIC
I am WOMAN


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

heart head gut by Melita White

heart says:
this is good
will heal wounds
subconscious drives heart
subterranean rumbles
seemingly seamless with self
fuels ecstasy
fired by heart
which always agrees
always says
yes please
i am flying
and i want
more
fill up the more
with still more
i beg you
yearnings come from heart
urges cravings
stoke want need
desire for skin
softly melts
swells lips
lubricates
mood set aloft
inebriates
heart
wants to soar

heart ignores head
head is distant
rationality
head is cold
says
i’m the boss
your filter
valorised by humanity
by vain argument
of capability
denial of need
my specialty
but use me
and i’ll keep you
level
aloof
removed
head looks for neat sums
that feel complete
but rarely come

gut knows best
shocks and churns
in instant response
to threat
knows head is slow
to catch up
language and logic
its speed bumps
and heart too quick
to drop guard
get carried away
on a trip
gut is ancient
wise
gut knows
and protects
gut’s whiskers detect
vibrations
gut’s feelers tingle
with signal
gut remembers predators
knows foe at a whiff
knows friends too
ah yes
i remember you

head battles for supremacy
i know
heart yearns to have its holes filled
i want
gut just knows yet struggles to be heard
listen

Melita White is founder and writer of the blog Feminist Confessional, a space that features feminist poetry, essays and personal pieces in a confessional style, with a focus on the MeToo movement. She is a composer and musician and loves making all kinds of things. https://feministconfessional.wordpress.com

A mad song – Devika Mathur

"Quiero que la gente me deje ser"

Dear girl,
you know about such times
of love and supple breeze
of time and earthed sky.

A song you wish to sing now?
A calcined mirror absorbing your breaths,
watch it carefully,
a heavy heart shots of a mad sky

A mad song
it shall be
of your swollen deep magenta desires
of your clairvoyant dreams about him,
with a blurred picture of aesthetics.
You do not understand, for now.
He is just like cotton candy.
A bereft and a stark sky,
watching you depart

slowly

like a candle’s wax.

Stop your volatile behavior now.
for it shall tear your voice,
like a petal detaching from a beautiful flower.
Across this black room,
numbness shall rest.

I was a mountain by Melita White

mountain-2143877_1920

One day, when I was six, I became a mountain
It was the day I yelled and screamed with righteousness into thick air, the air my only witness, while I sat on my bed’s soft bedrock
And with my pillow I swiped at that air, at the bed, at the enemy sitting next to me — her name was Injustice
And the rage burst out like lava from a fissure that needed so much to crack open and Injustice was afraid of me and though the lesson did not teach her anything I learnt there was power in truth and in my anger
I was a mountain

To freeze is not to escape but is to survive by staying still
A fawn is a baby deer but it also means to play along so someone doesn’t kill you
To flee is to run away from danger and escape
And to be able to fight and win — what a dream and privilege that would be

The quake I felt once I’d escaped, its aftershocks I felt again
My heart was coming loud with aches
Thrashed heavy like the pillow you used to suffocate
The murmurs that catch upon my breath
Are the beating wings of the bird trapped in my chest
While she’s learning to fly she remembers to sing
And the frozen fawn she flees the scene

My six year old awoke this morning, her rage amplified so hard by life that the walls pulsed, the glass throbbed and the wood thumped in sympathy
I will give you a thumping my father said to my brother
It was a threat to behave better like your hands on my throat were a suggestion of death
The fawn froze
Half-dead half-here half-there
Brain bisected violently, hurtling towards life and death simultaneously
You refuse to give life, to grow branches and shoot out twigs and new leaves
Your roots stay stuck in your concrete pot, demand that others tend without taking
A puppet ruler, a tin-pot dictator — you fail to give even air

And yet we write — our words don’t flee, they stand and fight
Poems infiltrate the water supply like truth serum
Liars are exposed
The ghosts of those you murdered stand outside your house banging loudly on pots and pans
Charivari, the rough music of justice, the just music of shame
Groundwater toxins vibrate in time, buckle epidermis of earth which pops with stochastic rhythm driven nonsensical by algorithms forming sharp little mountains everywhere the music is heard
The anvil of avoidance presses down firmly, suppressing pain and signals that should be voiced
The pressure exerted here will form a mountain over there
The rough music of justice will be heard and it will make tall mountains

I remember the facile pointless lessons repeated to you yet not learnt
Like discussing morality with a naughty child in an alien dialect
Your tongue so close to my own, the timbre alike but the words made no sense
The dissonance so loud that the difference tones buzzed my eardrums and filled my brain with hot fuzz like lava
And the mountains swelled and popped up randomly on the surface of my mind
And I became one — again
I became a mountain

Melita White is founder and writer of the blog Feminist Confessional, a space that features feminist poetry, essays and personal pieces in a confessional style, with a focus on the MeToo movement. She is a composer and musician and loves making all kinds of things. https://feministconfessional.wordpress.com

I Am More Than Breath and Bone: I Am More – M.A. Morris

I am more than breath or bones.
I am the Melungeon veins
of my many great-grandmothers
as they run through the coal mines
of West Virginia into Kentucky and Tennessee.

I am more than breath or bones.
I am my mother’s and grandmother’s blood
flooding the snow melt rivers
of Appalachia.

I am more than breath or bones.
I am my mother’s iron ore,
her steel torn from the hollows
among the mountains of West Virginia
in the time of the Great Depression.

I am more than breath and bone,
I am the centrifuge
of history and heritage
of spirits and earth
of women who held
up mountains
for their children.

I am more than breath and bone.
We, my foremothers and I,
mother the culmination
of the next generations
to hold up the sky,
the sun, the stars, the moon
for their children.


 

I am a retired teacher, enjoying everything that retirement means. In addition, I have been active in the LGBTQ community since I was four years old and marched my Ken doll with all his little Ken accouterments to the big metal trash can in the yard. Yes, I dumped Ken, along with said accouterments, into the can and slammed the lid on. My two Barbie dolls lived happily ever after.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

Let there be storms – Georgiann Carlson

let there be storms
so that a woman’s rage
has a place to go
a place of darkness
and light
a place of explosions
and noise
cracks of lightening
and thunderclaps
intense pressure
and drops in
temperatures
in the eye of a storm
women can finally
feel at home


I’m an artist, a writer, a vegetarian, an animal rights activist, and quite a few other things as well. I love books, cats, philosophy, good conversation, Chicago and the arts. So my blog is full of bits and pieces but it’s the bits and pieces that make life interesting to me. You can read more of my writing at Rethinking Life

THE MEDUSA PROJECT – Call For Submissions For International Women’s Day 2020- Megha Sood

IWD-Votes

I’m so thrilled to share my first call out for submissions as an Assistant Poetry Editor of Mookychick, a UK based feminist literary journal. We are celebrating International Women’s Day with a themed call for submissions that resonate with freedom, choice, and equality. The submission for the IWD will be later considered for e-book anthology called “The Medusa Project”.I’m really thankful to the EIC Magda Knight, Poetry Editor Juliette Van der Molen and the entire team of warm and brilliant Mooky team for supporting me.

We want you to help us celebrate the 100th anniversary of this powerful day. Mookychick is calling all the writers of all genders to submit writing which resonates with the feeling of freedom, choice, and equality.

The details of the submission are here.

Happy International Women’s Day!!

Megha Sood

 

 

Predator by Melita White

wolf-1836875_1920

A smile that’s too large
A look in the eye
Too intense, unblinking
The predator spots his prey
You
A shifty glance sideways
Evasive, furtive
A question ignored
Or answered too late
That too-soon bonding
With sickly sweet compliments
So many superlatives
And nothing adds up
None of his story
Avoidance, so much
His responses don’t fit
You know it, you do
Now trust it, trust you
And if you’re not sure
Just wait, you’ll see
Something will happen
A sign, an event
This thing will make sense
Of all of your doubts
And heed it you must
For it’s the sign you were right all along
And this is the lesson
It is the great learning
The one that you weren’t taught when young
Leaving you open and prey to all
But especially open to those who profess
To like you the most, to like you the best
And offer the loveliest love of your life
You’re so hungry for love and esteem from without
That you’re open to strife
For you don’t know the feeling of love from within
Or even the sense of a self or desire
You’re lost and need good people to teach you
And bolster your spirit
And he’s not it
No
He’s not even close
And you know that he’s not
As does he, but by golly you look so tasty and he wants to gobble you up, doesn’t he?

But you’re safe now for you know it’s ok both to feel and to say:

No

Melita White is founder and writer of the blog Feminist Confessional, a space that features feminist poetry, essays and personal pieces in a confessional style, with a focus on the MeToo movement. She is a composer and musician and loves making all kinds of things. https://feministconfessional.wordpress.com