Thank you, As It Ought To Be Magazine

I am very grateful for the timing of this poem’s appearance. Yesterday it snowed in Los Angeles, Joshua Tree, California and over in Las Vegas, Nevada. Yesterday a story appeared about polar bears raiding a rubbish dump in Novaya Zemlya, Siberia because of poor sea ice.

I am one of those folks that write poems in response to things going on around me, so it is especially pleasing when I feel like the timing of a poem’s appearance is just right. Thank you, As It Ought To Be for featuring what I do. I am very appreciative.

“Plus Ten” By Jeremy Nathan Marks

Thank you, Derelict Magazine

Derelict Magazine is a literary journal which republished pieces which previously appeared in magazines which have gone out of print. They were kind enough to republish my poems “Torrent” and “Don’t Walk” which were published in Morel Magazine in January 2017. Morel, sadly, has since gone out of print.

For any writers who have previously published pieces looking for new homes, I recommend Derelict to you.

You can read my poems here:

https://derelictlit.com/poetry/2019/2/13/torrent-by-jeremy-nathan-marks?fbclid=IwAR2cjQO0CZ6JHb1GnWMU5Yeqik1qYAll0fV3N-VlLvl5XD0YO4H4twLkbVM

https://derelictlit.com/poetry/2019/2/13/dont-walk-by-jeremy-nathan-marks

Thank you, Bravearts

You can read my poems “Pink and blue pegs (gamification)” and “Shining cities the mind” here: https://braveartsafrica.wordpress.com/2019/01/24/pink-and-blue-pegs-a-poem-by-jeremy-nathan-marks/

And here: https://braveartsafrica.wordpress.com/2019/01/20/shining-cities-of-the-mind-a-poem-by-jeremy-nathan-marks/

 

 

Thank you, Eunoia Review

My poem “Terminal Tower” is up at Eunoia Review today. It is part of a series of poems I have been writing about the Great Lakes region.

https://eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2018/12/29/terminal-tower/?fbclid=IwAR0qKv-fVDrc176aPAMs9UGUlVQH-Ne_12bnfVNBfDI7QN-j_EFEyJstbbs

Terminal Tower

Five years past, I walked to Cleveland from London,
Ontario. My passport was the memory of monarchs and
warblers.

I touched water at the Rondeau spit.

A shroud of perch bones settled on the lake’s surface.
It was January, season of thin oil fish.

When Erie thaws, shore dwellers sleep on feathers
not the moon of long-winged ants and day-dead nymphs.

When Erie freezes, snowy owls move down from the pole.
Toddlers cry out to hunters sighting flying dots.

In senseless white I thought crows.

For several miles out was a procession of voles.
In the shallows they sought smelts and minnows,
the lake their field of barley, bluegrass, the English gardens.

Over in a town no one knew,
a candidate calling himself Zyklon B
was elected; his first act named Town Hall
Terminal Tower.

This is for the great Cuyahoga fire, he said.

The snow I met was a cache of ashes.
It fell with vulcanized precision.

-Jeremy Nathan Marks