Your Writing Wanted: Whisper and the Roar

Do you like the writing of Georgia Park, Christine Ray, David SomersetNadia GarofaloAakriti Kuntal, Nate Leland?  Do you consider yourself a feminist?  Consider submitting your writing to Whisper and the Roar.

The theme of submitted work need not be feminist, but the writer must be.

Submission Guidelines for Whisper and the Roar:

  • Send up to 3 pieces of original writing in either PDF or Word document attached to an email that includes a brief cover letter (example: Hello, my name is Charles Baudelaire! I love absinthe and dark corners, here are some of my poems!) Although we prefer previously unpublished work, we will consider published work as long as it has ONLY been published on a blog. No e-zines, e-mags, e-presses, e-books, printed works.
  • Include a brief bio in the body of the email and a link to your website/where you write/where you want people to go if they’re interested in more of your writing.
  • 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.
  • Understand we do not own the rights to your work, the rights are yours and yours only. We only publish your piece once, with the potential to reblog.
  • Allow up to 4-6 weeks for a response.
  • If you prefer to send a blind manuscript, do not include your name or a cover letter in the attached document.
  • Send submissions to: whisperandtheroar@gmail.com

Your Writing Wanted: Whisper and the Roar

Do you like the writing of Georgia Park, Christine Ray, David SomersetNadia GarofaloAakriti Kuntal, Nate Leland?  Do you consider yourself a feminist?  Consider submitting your writing to Whisper and the Roar.

The theme of submitted work need not be feminist, but the writer must be.

Submission Guidelines for Whisper and the Roar:

  • Send up to 3 pieces of original writing in either PDF or Word document attached to an email that includes a brief cover letter (example: Hello, my name is Charles Baudelaire! I love absinthe and dark corners, here are some of my poems!) Although we prefer previously unpublished work, we will consider published work as long as it has ONLY been published on a blog. No e-zines, e-mags, e-presses, e-books, printed works.
  • Include a brief bio in the body of the email and a link to your website/where you write/where you want people to go if they’re interested in more of your writing.
  • 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.
  • Understand we do not own the rights to your work, the rights are yours and yours only. We only publish your piece once, with the potential to reblog.
  • Allow up to 4-6 weeks for a response.
  • If you prefer to send a blind manuscript, do not include your name or a cover letter in the attached document.
  • Send submissions to: whisperandtheroar@gmail.com

Now at Liberty-A humorous break-up poem by Dorothy Parker

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Little white love, your way you’ve taken;
Now I am left alone, alone.
Little white love, my heart’s forsaken.
(Whom shall I get by telephone?)
Well do I know there’s no returning;
Once you go out, it’s done, it’s done.
All of my days are gray with yearning.
(Nevertheless, a girl needs fun.)

Little white love, perplexed and weary,
Sadly your banner fluttered down.
Sullen the days, and dreary, dreary.
(Which of the boys is still in town?)
Radiant and sure, you came a-flying;
Puzzled, you left on lagging feet.
Slow in my breast, my heart is dying.
(Nevertheless, a girl must eat.)

Little white love, I hailed you gladly;
Now I must wave you out of sight.
Ah, but you used me badly, badly.
(Who’d like to take me out tonight?)
All of the blundering words I’ve spoken,
Little white love, forgive, forgive.
Once you went out, my heart fell, broken.
(Nevertheless, a girl must live.)

A striking mix of poetry and story

@KaremIBarratt I am she, Who screamed at the night, Demanding justice for her blood, Spilled by a knife, Legs held by the mothers who Were supposed to love her. I am she, Who held her baby tight, As the bombs teared her world, Walls falling down, her child Of light, now the colour of earth. […]

via She — Singing Heart

DON’T BLAME ME, I VOTED FOR VERMIN SUPREME

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[Poem and photo by Leah Mueller]

[ Contact Leah Here]

I voted for a pint of my poems

on my door slightly before dusk,

and found them to be

extra kind to each other today.

I voted for a huge wave

of your profile picture,

with whom I was excited to

see my awkward pre-teen, years later.

I voted for $1,000 per month

helping me in an interesting niche market.

I voted for me with an hour.

This made me be exact.

I voted for a protest vote.

In fact, the skull looks nice.

I voted for a lot of lunacy.

I voted for Mother’s Day.

I voted for Hillary Clinton

in a cool video and wild music.

I voted for a product that my sister

built of automatic weapons,

on top of everything else.

I voted for a fine-toothed comb.

I voted for a hard rain.

I voted for legal marijuana, though.

I voted for me, but less bad,

for someone that

blatantly broke the law.

I voted for a couple more than an hour

layover/plane change in Salt Lake City.

I voted for her mouth,

and literally committed Treason

by students in such situations.

I voted for a sign

telling people not to say anything.

There is already chosen.

America is not quite normal.

And if you’re a Mean One,

in battle with firecrackers

until dawn.

Fear, Partitions and Damage by Aakriti Kuntal

Poemimage
Morning flicks her tongue around the curtain,
coffee with violets grazing
My arms, a sheath,
body velvet swimming around me, defenseless blanket

I am thrumming
as the mornings encroach my left bosom,
my dissected body shaking, blatant in its denial to sense reason

Cold and latent, ice blue, amphibian green,
icicles
f
a
l
L
from my mouth,
chunk after chunk,
my tongue strung to a second hemisphere
a constant too frigid to be forfeited now

I fold my arms, tape them to themselves,
To seize the bleed
from encircling all this fading life
This material wound
from (un)purchased dreams

I wear speech
in circles and patches, behind finicky windows
filming lavender saplings,
as my thighs grow transparent under
scattered blows of ashamed suns,
I wander in the echo of my footsteps,
and curl,
under the agony of diffused love

Fear stands,
almost fearless now
No different from the odor of my skin,
I seek its camouflage,
To anaesthetise the voracious thirst of my neonatal being

I wear fear around bunched fingers,
like ferns brown and fatal
Dissecting my yogurt eyes,
Blur,
blur,
fade the vision

I wear fear like a shield
/against/ myself
almost Like a preference
My body an occasion
of thunder
The lights continually
dripping
from my center
Harvesting
to draw this reeling sense of a fractured whole