the bird on fire

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Instagram Poetry

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A submission by Poet-Blogger Jeremy Cheng

Jeremy submitted the following poem to “Rattle’s” Instagram-Poet Competition.

Want to submit an Instagram Poem as well? Here are the specs:

  • Publication: Rattle magazine
  • Publication type: online, print
  • Editor: Timothy Green
  • Word count: Send up to four poems; no line limit provided
  • Payment: $100/poem
  • Rights the publisher asks for: First publication rights plus exclusive rights for one year after publication. Author retains copyright.
  • Deadline: January 15, 2019
  • Publication date: Summer 2019
  • Response time: Not specified.
  • Format: Not specified. Standard manuscript format is a good bet.
  • Will they take simultaneous submissions? Not specified.
  • Will they take multiple submissions? Yes, but include all in a single document. Read more about multiple and simultaneous submissions.
  • Will they take reprints? “…we won’t consider poems that have been published in books, magazines, or newspapers, in print or online. We will, however, consider poems that have only been self-published to blogs, message boards, or social media accounts.”.
  • Who to contact with questions: www.rattle.com/info/contact/

MIDNIGHT

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By Leo Milmet

the clock struck midnight.

he was alone on the balcony.

all the people who had disturbed the peace

were long gone.

and there was peace.

quiet.

the contrasting lights of the moonlight and his cigarette

drew more of his attention than any care in the world.

it was midnight on a breezy summer night,

and he sat, contemplating his life.

to his surprise, he felt

joy.

Editor: Holden Hartle

FLASHLIGHT

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By Leo Milmet

in the dark

i see the light.

you.

you’re the light.

you’re my flashlight

in the constant power outage of life.

sometimes the light you shine is white and bright, and

almost appears to

restore the power.

other times it’s just a glimmer of light,

no larger than a rosebud,

a soft petal of light

with a narrow focus, and not much flood.

that’s okay.

i don’t trip and fall in the dark, and i know that’s

got something to do with you.

Editor: Luke Langlois

Kite

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By Jeremy Cheng, Poet Extraordinaire

 

I am a kite;

You are a kite holder.

You release the string and let me fly higher.

The wind blows;

I enjoy the breeze.

Suddenly, a strong wind comes from behind,

And you, afraid the string will break,

Pull the string back and make sure that I will not fly away.

Every time you support me,

I hope the string will not break

Because I love the feeling of you holding on.

 

Editor: Leo Milmet

Brighter

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By Gladys Canby

 

My joy is

starting to return.

Colors are brightening and

I have been

smiling more.

No more is the me who

keeps her eyes

fixed on the ground.

No more do I fight myself

over whether or not

I am important.

Now,

I am starting to feel

like I matter to

someone.

I’m starting to feel like

I exist.

I have begun my life,

and ended my survival.

 

Editor: Holden Hartle

Air

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Our Fashion, Food, and Travel Correspondent Jeremy Cheng breaks out into A Poem.

 

I fell into the deep;

I am unable to breathe.

You bring me air.

In this moment,

Nothing else can stop me from loving you.

I follow your steps;

You lead me to see the light.

Sunlight forms a spotted shadow through the gaps between leaves which makes me realize the meaning of life.

I imagine

Sitting close to the river,

Picking up a guitar.

You

Just playing and singing for me.

Lying down on the grass,

Smelling the fragrance of grass.

Then,

I realized that

If you were not here,

I would die.

I think

This is love

And you

Are my air.

 

Editor: AJ Patencio

Ametsa

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By Warren Peace

 

I wish you had never called

our time together a

dream because a

dream is

something that you

wake up from.

So,

if it was all a dream,

then does that mean that

our promises

never meant more

than a dream?

Does this mean that

those very promises

weren’t broken

because they never

existed?

I never wanted to

wake up,

but now,

I wish

I had never fallen asleep.

Now,

I only see our time together

in my nightmares.

 

Editor: Makena Behnke

The Big Pain

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By Reg Oyce

 

I was in elementary school when

The Big Pain happened.

I was never the same

after.

I was in middle school when

the reality of the Big Pain hit me.

I was never able to heal

after.

I was in high school when

I first talked about the Big Pain.

I was never seen the same way

after.

I am seventeen and

the Big Pain still affects me.

I will be able to heal

after.

I will be an adult and

the Big Pain will always be a part of me,

but it will never

become me.

 

Editor: Luke Langlois

I’m a Polar Bear in a Snowstorm

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By Leo Milmet

 

For Ms. McGrew

 

I’m a polar bear in a snowstorm.

I blend in well with all the snow.

Or with a whiteboard.

Or whatever.

My red eyes and green nose, however,

drawn by an obnoxious sixth-grader

on Mrs. McGrew’s whiteboard, don’t really blend in as well.

What, am I a damn Christmas tree?

I hate my red eyes.

I look like a vampire in those god-awful

Twilight movies, or books, or whatever they are.

Y’know what I mean, right?

I want blue eyes.

My best friend Emily — the

Polar bear in a snowstorm to my left — has blue eyes. And she has a gold nose,

regally created for the Hanukkah season.

She’s so much prettier than I am.

She was just drawn yesterday.

I guess our job is to get people in the holiday spirit no matter what holiday we celebrate,

but it’s kinda hard to be in a celebratory mood when you look like a sad, tiny, disjointed wreath.

Whatever though. It’s fine — I,

born of two markers and a Satanic sixth-grader,

am a polar bear in a snowstorm, and a polar bear in a snowstorm I will stay.

I still want Emily’s eyes, though.

I mean, seriously, how hard is it to erase my eyes and redraw them blue? That hard? Really?

Really? Okay, fine. Whatever. You win.

 

Editor: Luke Langlois

I didn’t cry.

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By Arty Fischel

I didn’t cry

when you ended us.

But,

of course,

it did hurt.

Of course I felt

the tell-tale feeling

of my stomach

sinking.

My heart had

become an angry bull

bucking wildly in my chest,

suddenly released from

its pen by the

impending doom

that your words had

delivered.

But there were no

tears,

no unstoppable sobbing.

It was as if

I was saving my tears.

Editor: Leo Milmet