Tuesday, May 1, 2018

16th Annual #Dogfish Head Poetry Prize Opens May 15th. Submission Guidelines


Submission Guidelines
The sixteenth annual Dogfish Head Poetry Prize for the winning book-length manuscript by a poet residing in the Mid-Atlantic states (DE, MD, VA, PA, NJ, NY, WVA, NC and District of Columbia) will consist of $500, two cases of Dogfish Head Craft Brewed Beer*, manuscript publication by Broadkill River Press, and 10 copies of the book (in lieu of royalties).

The rules are: Manuscripts must be received by midnight, August 15, 2018.  Manuscripts received after the closing date will not be considered. Eligible poets must reside in the above listed states and be twenty-one years of age by the date of the award.*  The manuscript is to be submitted electronically in one MS Word document attachment.  Please do not include illustrations, photographs, or use an unusual font. Send to prize coordinator Linda Blaskey atdogfishheadpoetryprize@earthlink.net.  Snail mail submissions will not be accepted.

Send two title pages (both to be included in the one MS Word document) with each submission: the first with the title of the manuscript, author’s name, address, phone numbers and e-mail address; the second with just the manuscript title.   No manuscript is to have any author-identifying information other than the one title page and will be rejected if it does. Judging is blind and double-tiered. The manuscript must be book-length (between 48 and 78 pages of original work – no translations). A poem may be more than one page. One submission per entrant.  There is no entry fee. Shara McCallum will judge.

The award will be presented to the winner on Saturday evening, December 8, 2018 at the Dogfish Inn in Lewes, Delaware.  The winner must agree to attend this event and to read from their winning book at a reception honoring the winner. The prize will be officially awarded by Sam Calagione, Founder and CEO of Dogfish Head Craft Brewery and Distillery, or by another company official.

The author of the winning manuscript also agrees to provide, within ten days of notification, a color head-shot photograph, with photographer’s credit, for the back cover and a dedication page for the interior of the book. Also, an acknowledgement page of poems previously published, and in which publications and/or websites they appeared will need to be provided. The winner agrees to travel to Delaware at the winner’s expense for awarding of the prize.   Dogfish Head will provide the winner two nights lodging at the Dogfish Inn in the beach resort town of Lewes, Delaware.

Dogfish Head Craft Brewed Ales retains the right to use any of the winning work in promotional materials.
Co-workers of Dogfish Head and their families are ineligible to enter.  Previous winners of the prize are ineligible to enter.

For questions and more information contact Linda Blaskey, Prize coordinator, at linblask@aol.com

New issue is live. Reviews of Christine Stoddard, Sean Thomas Doughtery and @uniambic Fiction, poetry, & Dogfish Head Prize guidelines

The new issue of The Broadkill Review is live.

The complete guidelines to the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize are on the front page. Start working those manuscripts. Cash, beer, publication, and weekend at the Dogfish Head Inn. Pretty cool prize, ya dig?

This issue features:
Nina Bennett reviews Christine Stoddard's Mestiza.
James Bourey reviews Tim Strong and Eric Grienke
Grant Clauser reviews Sean Thomas Dougherty's newest collection, The Second O of Sorrow, from BOA.
Thaddeus Rutowski hustles up some creative non-fiction.
Naomi Thiers reviews Colleen Andersen and Claudia Van Gerven, 
and Stephen Scott Whitaker reviews Grant Clauser's Reckless Constellations.
Plus fiction by John CalifanoRebecca L. Monroe, and Anthony Parker
Featuring poetry by L. Ward AbelGale AcuffThomas DorsettLoralee ClarkMichael Galko, S.C. Hahn, Clyde Kessler, Sandra KohlerKen L. Jones, Greg Moglia, Charles Rammelkamp, Robert Jo Stout & Martin Willitts

Monday, April 30, 2018

Alice Morris' "Crickets" #poemaday #NationalPoetryMonth

--from the archives of The Broadkill Review

Visit us at our new home  broadkillreview.com
Support us by purchasing a title from the Broadkill River Press, co-sponsor of the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize.
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probably no wiser than a cricket's chirrup
I drive through the Bighorn Mountains
a sudden shower
drops the veil
of morning

leap from the stubble
sound like low lisp of rippling tide
the minutest cricket – 
like a long line from a poem

nighthawks flit over fields along the river
like a
with treble soft
remembering the first star

in a field –
crickets sing for a mate
I imagine
distant temples
where crickets sing all night, and the stars,
low lisp of rippling tide
whisk of the invisible  

when the crickets stop their cry
I stop to listen
to trees digging the air for crickets
where history spins
at dawn
here, here, here, crickets 
at the end of my hours

"And Now, Goodby" by Jaroslov Seifert, Three Songs at the End of Summer by Jane Kenyon, Long Island Sound by Emma Lazarus, How Baseball Saved My Marriage by Kristen Lindquist, The King and Seer by Emily Warn, At the End of My Hours By Dana Levin

Alice Morris comes to writing with a background in art– published in a West Virginia textbook and The New York Art Review. Her poetry appears or is forthcoming in The Broadkill ReviewDelaware Beach Life, Silver Birch PressRat’s Ass ReviewThe White Space, The Avocet, and The Weekly Avocet. Her poems are also published or forthcoming in themed collections and anthologies, most recently Rehoboth Reimagined, The Way to My Heart: An Anthology of Food-Related Romance, Ice Cream Poems: reflections on life with ice cream, and Bared: Contemporary Poetry and Art on Bras and Breasts.

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Elijah Rene Mendoza's "Jose Andres Travels in Spain" #Poemaday #NationalPoetryMonth

--from the archives of The Broadkill Review
Visit us at our new home  broadkillreview.com
Support us by purchasing a title from the Broadkill River Press, co-sponsor of the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize.
Connect with us on Twitter .

José Andrés Travels in Spain Late night, I watch PBS through the static from my rabbit ears. José Andrés goes through Spain, tasting the finest pastries Hand-baked in a wood burning oven and sprinkled With powdered sugar. He takes a trip Through Catalonian wine country and samples Garnacha grapes from decade-old barrels On the estate of some noble family. José Andrés is a man going bald with a paunchy stomach. It seems he’s spent his life traveling and drinking. He knows much about pastries, deserts, and grapes, But I don’t think he knows wine. José Andrés drinks the glass That some other man places in front of him And always says it’s excellent. He doesn’t search For places to visit because producers pay vineyards and restaurants To bring him meals. Watching José Andrés makes me hungry And angry. The image of food on television doesn’t fill my stomach. I’m not the fat man in a club in Ibiza beside Half-dressed women at four in the morning. I haven’t Ambled through Cádiz down to the shore Hung-over after Carnival, but just a little. José Ramón Andrés Puerta, I’ll search out wine for myself, and there won’t be TV cameras. If I’m lucky, I’ll scuff my shoes, let ripped canvas have celebrity, Point to the bottom of the menu and say, “That. I want the bottle of that.”  

Elijah Rene Mendoza is a graduate of Vanderbilt University and the University of California, Riverside. He has taught at Tarrant County College, Baylor University, and Texas Christian University. He enjoys formal poems, museums, and motorcycles.

Saturday, April 28, 2018

@kgekker's "Now Four Blizzards" #Poemaday #NationalPoetryMonth

Now, Four Blizzards


The radio interrupts old songs, warns –
Severe winter storm!
Extremely hazardous conditions
but you drive fast
into onslaughting snow.

Flakes like flashing stars
aim for my eyes,
divide at the windshield at the last moment.

The blizzard bends around us
like time through space


You drive at the speed of light
into dark, our convertible
hurtles away from the sun
in a blizzard of neutrinos.

When you turn on the headlamps,
light disappears into night.
We’re a star shimmering in the past,
listening to songs we cannot remember –


Except this: a blizzard disappeared
into the ocean, rimed the ship’s edges
white with ringing, stopped all thought
where metal ends.

The ship groaned, then dipped
so we saw only water,
a dark wall above us, dark
except for reflected white and red beams,
reflections of the ship’s running lights.

This light disappeared long ago.


Everything quickens around you –
surf rushes our feet.
Ice, sand, feldspar sting our skin.

Snow disappears in the ocean,
stirs sand with hoary frost
until waves melt the whiteness.
The blizzard salts your
shoulders, your eyelashes.
I can’t catch my breath.

A wild song vibrates through dunes,
disappears in hissing foam.

The world bends toward us,
the world bends away.

Katherine Gekker’s poems have appeared in Little Patuxent Review, Northern Virginia Review, and Little Lantern Press (November 2016).
Gekker’s poems, “…to Cast a Shadow Again,” were set to music by composer Eric Ewazen. Composer Carson Cooman set her poems, "Chasing Down the Moon," to music. Both are available on CD and iTunes.

 --from the archives of The Broadkill Review

Visit us at our new home  broadkillreview.com
Support us by purchasing a title from the Broadkill River Press, co-sponsor of the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize.
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Denise Clemmons' "What the Future Was" #NationalPoetryMonth #Poemaday

What the Future Was

Like the inches you lost
sinking into old age
until you were shorter
than all of your children.

Linden-laced cul de sac
folded into a fist
of arthritic knuckles
squeezing out every drop
of angry nostalgia.

Denise Clemons holds a BA in Biopsychology from Vassar College and an MA in Writing from Johns Hopkins University. She spent the first twenty years of her career as an executive in the technology industry before escaping the corporate world to devote her energies to the non-profit arena. When Denise moved to Lewes, DE in 2005, she began writing the weekly food column for the Cape Gazette newspaper. She has published fiction, non-fiction and poetry in journals, chapbooks and anthologies.  

--from the archives of The Broadkill Review
Visit us at our new home  broadkillreview.com
Support us by purchasing a title from the Broadkill River Press, co-sponsor of the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize.
Connect with us on Twitter .

Friday, April 27, 2018

Ted Hendricks' "Case Closed" #Poemaday #NationalPoetryMonth

--from the archives of The Broadkill Review
Visit us at our new home  broadkillreview.com
Support us by purchasing a title from the Broadkill River Press, co-sponsor of the Dogfish Head Poetry Prize.
Connect with us on Twitter .

Ted Hendricks divides his time between teaching college English, contributing to academic journals, and writing poems and plays. He says that all three are interesting and satisfying, but unfortunately only the first comes near to paying the bills. When he's not teaching and writing, Ted is slowly rehabbing a rowhouse in Baltimore.

Case closed

"I'm sorry it was you they had to call . .  . At least
your dad won't know . . . I'll meet the kids at school. Can I
do anything?  I wish . . . Oh, never mind. We'll be there
Saturday . . . You too . . . Thanks . . . Good-bye." Four years ago  
I would have been the one the sheriff's office phoned.
Poor thing, I wonder what they showed her at . . . that place.

I'll have to run upstairs, explain, and hope she lets me leave
right now so I don't miss them at dismissal in the crowd.
They'll ask where and when, who found him? The Park Police.
Two nights ago. Inside his car. (They loved that car.
Who gets it? Some scrap dealer for the towing charge?)
The police called Aunt Nancy. The funeral's Saturday.

As for why, I wish I knew myself. His health was fine;
and he was working, so he wasn't broke. He must
have friends and colleagues—I don't know them. A girlfriend?
He got around, but no one special—I'd have heard.
The kids at least adored him; he always had time
and money for them, even when the child support was late.

It's an aggressive act, we learned in Psych, to push
your hatred for yourself on someone else, to hurt
the one who made you hate yourself. Did I do that
to him? He made me hate me—before and after.
Did he mean to? I don't know; I didn't leave him
many options when I changed the locks and phone.

Will he go to heaven? Be with Gram and Granddad?
They say that those who die like that have thrown away
the chance to reconcile with God. If we had saints
the kids and I would pray for Dad to them. But why?
We never reconciled ourselves and we weren't short
of chances. God tried harder than we did.

I'd like to see him one last time, to tell him
why I did those things that hurt him and leave him sure
he'd heard me out and understood. And he'd forgive
me and I him, so we'd be reconciled. And God
would take him back again. But there's no chance of that.
He used a gun; the casket will be closed.