Rattle Magazine open mic.

On Sunday 14 June, I got to participate in an online (call-in) open mic courtesy of Rattle Magazine with host and editor, Tim Green. It is part of the magazine's Poets Respond portion, whereby poets can write a poem influenced by an event in the news and submit it with hopes of publication. I submitted my poem, "The Dragons," that was triggered by a lawyer out of Milwaukee, Wisconsin that spat on a black teenager during a protest for the late George Floyd and Black Lives Matter. My poem wasn't chosen, but all those who submitted were offered a chance to call in and recite their writs, and so I did. The following YouTube link will take you there. I start at 33:02. Let me know what you think. Thanks. #poem #rattlemagazine #poetry #openmic #poetrycommunity

National Poetry Month (belated): The 3-poem challenge

In honor of National Poetry Month, I made a request to my Instagram fam to offer a word or phrase and I would compose a poem from them. Two words and an opening phrase were the only offers and I was happy to receive them. Please express your opinions about the poems and the physical versions of them are below this post for your viewing consumption. Thank you for your time: - Jarrod Fête (for Borka) All thoughts were on the lack of full spring during my great-nephew's first birthday. The early portion of the backyard where it was held was centered with a plastic table that could seat at least five, whose white had the personality of an outfit that demanded, "Look this way! Look this way!" but couldn't quite glean it. Although boiled wieners, barbequed chicken legs, wings, and a few other things were good and ready with high fructose juice no child should be drinking was ample alongside candy, they couldn't overtake the centerpiece of vanilla-chocolate cupcakes near the handmade b-boy poster on the tan shed. If there weren't enough decorations, the topiary heaven supplied what streamers, hearts, and teddy bear shapes needed out of imagination's box. The perfume of honeysuckle was absent, and there were only several little guests allowed at this six feet apart from a circumstance that could mishandle their health, but it was the coolness that should have moved before their shivers. All the babies will be drippy faucets from the nose later on, because winter wasn't fully dressed and couldn't stray from attention. © Copyright 2020 "Fête" Jarrod C. Lacy Metastasize (for Sam) Ours was made public, sudden, formed from rumor to realism out of wet markets. It will defeat the sundries of selfishness involved and accustomed to advantage. The nightmare switch wiped reality so crassly that imperceptible microbe burned relief short for the masses. An actual cancer: the populace is regrettably the answer, rather those whose appetites and wants to levitate and drop all series of severity for the problematic stunts that flaunt the routine speed for a reunion with so-called normalcy and the party. These inconsolable rejectionists who'd rather be running pus instead of healing in the sore is not troubled by the most human skin they could rudely rub worn. Nothing abling as trouble by an invisible freeze that can punch a crater in regularity will be inside them, and they'll probably shrug their shoulders at the thought of sludge drowning lungs. Ready the ice trucks, prepare some for Potter's, be stiff among a triage, and cremation will not debut any martyrs. © Copyright 2020 "Metastasize" Jarrod C. Lacy The Panacea (for Jennifer) Each day, during the quarantine of 2020, we baked cakes. Well, actually, mom did. Four as the closest count that I can give - and more like every other week. One strawberry, one lemon, one vanilla pound and one German chocolate were great representatives. Btw, mom's funny about her kitchen. It was good to have sweetness on the brain then on the buds. They helped us determine how each day was founded and how they got done. Lemon was the warmest and we wore shorts and thinner shirts and appreciated any remnant of a breeze that was a cool gauze for our knees. I practiced this one profusely. If we managed to find ourselves loitering on the front or side porch (the backyard in my case) and saw more of our neighbors out to risk the worst, current wave with most faces gagged by protection then this was definitely a German chocolate day. The nuance of bronze is so amazing. The silence was forced to reopen its code and establish being alone as another blank stage. This tabula rasa is truly vanilla and offered a creative age. Something new is always a developed flavor. Varied events, even if it's not wise to walk past the fence, tasted the sweetest: birds in concert, the wind as a friend, the sun was temperature perfection, and the clouds contorted trends. This is our inside game. Cake tastes that define aspects while we wait to venture further than we are again. © Copyright 2020 "The Panacea" Jarrod C. Lacy

Strive for prosperity and growth. Happy New Year 2020.

PUBLISHED!!!!

I'm happy to announce that my poem, "Little Firsts," was recently published in Oddball Magazine. I'd like to think the editors and to extend congrats to all the others whose works were chosen. Please use the following link to view the poem. Scroll to "Poem by Jarrod Lacy."  Thank you. Link: https://oddballmagazine.com/

Poem: "Uppity Ms. Priss, the critic."

Uppity Ms. Priss, the Critic
January 20, 1999
"The overly illuminated frills of
silver, lace doilies were gaudy;
slumped on a dry, brown coffee table.
An informal get-together was all it
was, all it is.
Loudly flamboyant the dress were on
the freakish guests -
Much too much white donned to serve
with only coffee, finger sandwiches,
and a mild bisque,
And the senseless, mouthy hullabaloo;
patrons with pieces of bread not chewed,
sojourned on their lips; a half hitch of
crumbs staged as wet pillows caught
in the corners of each mouth.
(Get me out of here)
Then they dared to dab and dip
the sandwiches in the scalding
brown bean and water mixed,
And I, the offended, was clearly
but willingly prohibited."
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy

Poem: "Living is a Push."

Living is a Push
Notice rain water near the intersection of that street usually travelled
has gone from cloudy to clear.
Notice potholes long called on are now filled and beautifully blackened
and its old condition is put to the rear.
Notice run-down homes historically stoned by neglect are now revived,
painted and formally fixed.
Notice rusted and twisted chain linked fences are renewed with fresh
pointed wood with color, all the ugliness nixed.
Higher ups and its people under
them said the same can be done
about another people though under
this prior set and all of that.
Slow moves are a habit, but it has to be done that way without full notice.
The ousted of their communities befriend those that have taken them in
and later betrayed them with a switch of fortunes, happy to leave their
former friends homeless.
They have a name for this, but why own it?

© Copyright 2018 "Living is a Push" Jarrod C. Lacy

Poems: "Tea" and "A Life Too Long."