Red Beard Press
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Hello! This week Red Beard has been doing some serious brainstorming. Today, we come to you with a writing prompt which we hope to provide weekly as something to stew on, ponder, wonder about, and finally to write on. We hope to see all of your brilliant creations in the comments; perhaps to even incorporate them into the new zine of the Neutral Zone, "Fern". Today's prompt:
Interpret a dream you've had. Or, predict your life based on said dream. Comment your work! We'd love to read it.
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 11/17/16, Poetry Night in Ann Arbor. With three feature speakers, two amazing non-teen readers, and over twenty teen speakers from a variety of schools, every minute of reading was riveting. Reading myself was definently scary, especially since Kass seemed to not know much about me and gave me a sub-par introduction, but more rewarding than anything else. The applause I got, the people who came up and admired my bravery and writing afterwards, made it worth it. The audience was a big mix of people: parents, friends, neutral zone teens, interested adults, etc. I hope to come back again one day, but instead as a special guest. Be sure to keep your eye out for PNAA next year!
 Hello! It's a very busy time for Red Beard. Currently we are accepting submissions for Pufferfish Volume II! Pufferfish's first volume had some seriously talented students featured in it last year. Including:
Carson Borbely's Medication: I love my small world. Morning. Ultraviolence on & faded in the background, the slow, preening rocket of Lana’s voice. ‘My boyfriend’s pretty cool / but he’s not as cool as me’, she sings. The half moon of powder, 5 milligrams. The dust chalk it prints on my fingers & the blue disk I chase it with. I love the space I’ve created for myself on this teeming planet, not a niche or a corner but a vein, a path. The river I walk in and the wrinkles it makes of my feet. It’s a vein I can live within comfortably, even though the rest isn’t for me. I don’t feel caught. My wings aren’t clipped. I love the smooth rattle of medication & tap water glowing down my throat & hurricaning me into function. I win every morning I wake up with my heart beating whether or not I wake up wanting it to beat. I love when my blood stays where it belongs & it announces itself in trumpeting blushes. Every morning I sit up in bed, I praise the invincible ache. I love what I can’t beat. Whether or not I am happy, I am here, a piece of ecstatic evidence. Praise lamotrigine & the tightrope of its delicate argument for forcing me still & undoing my hummingbird pulse. Praise buspar for its gentle wave of untangling. Praise their union. It is too a ladder, a staircase, a ring of dim & steady light. I love my small world, mouth a cradle for these pills, union of body & pinched science. This is where cliches crack into canyons and I’m not scared to jump. This is where the pharmacy’s offerings, wrapped in orange stiff tubes, make me safer. I love what keeps me here. I love unzipping resentment and its sharp slant, love leveling the space between me & the proverbial everybody. High school students in the Ann Arbor area are encouraged to submit visual art and writing to the anthology, information can be found here. This month, we're also working in a Neutral Zone zine called called: Fern: Examining Ann Arbor's Undergrowth. Which aims to further connect different programs at the Neutral Zone by providing a way sharing events, both in at the Neutral Zone and in the larger community, and helping one another inform each other about what each program is up to. We are also currently looking for content for this zine from the Neutral Zone community. It's a very exciting project, and we're happy to be a part of it. It's looking to be a great month! Stay frosty, readers.  Can't wait for Poetry Night? Get your eyeballs on this poem by Fatimah Asghar, one of the ~featured poets~ of PNAA. Like what you see? Reserve PNAA tickets with eyelev21@aol.com, and don't forget to pick up your copy of Gun Unfired Since Deer Season, featuring poems from Fatimah Asghar, José Olivarez, and Chace "Mic Write" Morris. See more of Fatimah Asghar at fatimahasghar.com/
Stank Face Each morning I stitch a scowl to my smile. Let my eyes sass every person standing between me & the bus stop. My eyelashes icy. Call it survival. Call it eyeliner so crisp it could kill a bitch. You look prettier when you smile says the traffic guard & I cut out his tongue. It wags like a pet snail slimy in my palm. My eyes laser each crooked smile that comes my way. I take all their lips and mount them to my wall. Ay can I get your number? & the air sucked through my teeth cuts the windshields open, dead day of summer. Don’t fuck with me, bitch. I’m queen of the dignified clap back got thesauruses on my throne. Got dead bodies in my closet. cause of death? Thirst. Cause of death? Frostbite, burn, too hot & too cold. I mist when the world droughts. & no, I’m not sharing. |
About Red Beard PressRed Beard Press is an independent, youth-driven publishing company dedicated to creating cutting-edge literary arts projects, publishing emerging voices, and inspiring passionate literary communities. Categories
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