August 2, 2023

“We Exist Inside Each Other” by Sasha StilesPosted by

Sasha Stiles

WE EXIST INSIDE EACH OTHER

 
We Exist Inside Each Other by Sasha Stiles, those words of the title closing in green
 
We Exist Inside Each Other by Sasha Stiles, those words of the title closing in green
 
There Was This Other Side by Sasha Stiles, those words of the title closing in pink
 
There Was This Other Side by Sasha Stiles, those words of the title closing in pink

opensea.io | video/mp4

Digital textblock based on generative text co-authored by Sasha Stiles and her AI alter ego, Technelegy. 2023. “We exist inside each other” and “There was this other side” are extracted from “Completion: To Write with a Running Brush,” and was first published in The Asian American Writers’ Workshop in a special edition of The Margins in April 2022.

—from Rattle #80, Summer 2023
Tribute to NFT Poets

__________

Sasha Stiles (from the conversation): “There are a couple of answers there, some more tactical and logistical and some more conceptual and philosophical and cultural. What first drew me to the blockchain was the impulse to go beyond the bounds of Web2 and the traditional publishing world—to take matters into my own hands and explore creatively what I could do and write and distribute. Rather than trying to fit my existing work into traditional outlets, I could let my work dictate how it made its way into the world. I could, for example, publish an mp4 poem instead of printing stills. I could envision a poem as an interactive or generative text, or a VR piece or AR filter, a browser-based project. These kinds of poems can be adapted to fit in paper journals or even in online zines but can’t fully exist as they’re meant to outside of Web3.”(web)

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August 1, 2023

“When’s a Fork a Spoon” by Marianne BoruchPosted by

Marianne Boruch

WHEN’S A FORK A SPOON

When’s a fork a spoon
or a spoon a fork, little
tines stinging out at the end?
Weird and not right but

handy, she insisted. And runcible,
good, long-lived. The owl,
the pussycat—you know that poem—
out to sea in a beautiful boat

by a small guitar, my love
and the rest of it … But a spoon
with those straightaway thorns. A fork
flooding up to the brim. Next

they’ll razor the edge and call it
knife. What to cut then?
Once a tongue and a mouth.
And anything you gave it.

—from Rattle #34, Winter 2010

__________

Marianne Boruch: “This poem is part of a sequence, The Book of Hours, of what I think of as eerie and irreverent secular prayers, each written in early morning silence, coming from who-knows-where. They were gifts. And though a runcible spoon—a bit of nonsense first mentioned by Edward Lear in ‘The Owl and the Pussycat’—came to mean a weird multiple-use hand-held utensil at meals, it suggests in this piece exactly what, I’m not sure. But in the rush of the poem’s coming onto the page, the sweet singing ‘to a small guitar,’ the confusion of knife/fork/spoon and the way we feed and feed anyway those loved ones who are dying—all became a way of grief. Thus this poem. And thus poetry.”

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July 31, 2023

“Free Association” by Nicholas HoltPosted by

Nicholas Holt

FREE ASSOCIATION

implies the existence of paid
association and correct me
if I’m wrong but I’m pretty
 
sure that’s how Shaquille
O’Neal is making all his money.
It seems like each time
 
I pour a bowl of cereal,
Shaq emerges from my
air vents and asks if I’d
 
rather eat the new mutant
fruit he’s been growing
in his closet next to his
 
shoes the size of bread
loaves. I can’t say no!
The ways of making
 
money in this world
aren’t very good and 
precious few of us are
 
happy on weekends, so my 
only hope is to run for president
of poetry which I don’t
 
really deserve anyway.
I can hear you now: don’t
sell yourself short! but 
 
anyone having to sell
themselves is exactly
the problem and it’s hard
 
to feel anything but short
when Shaquille O’Neal
is constantly standing over
 
me shouting my new colostomy
bag is a slam dunk for
your excrement! I’m not
 
sorry, I’m just confused 
why gambling is illegal
in so many places when
 
that’s just what being born
is. Please don’t be mistaken.
I have nothing but love 
 
for the air-throttling 
Aristotling diesel Dr. 
Daddy Mayor McShaq—
 
the crack-a-lackin’ always
attackin’ comptroller
court controller president of 
 
dunketry,  O heavenly father
of oddball endorsements
and 52.7% free throw 
 
percentage, you tweeted
once that the Earth is flat
and dammit I believe
 
you—this world is yours
Shaquille, flat and shiny
as a basketball court
 
with all its peach trees
and double-dribbles—
thank you, thank you
 
for letting me frolic 
through your garden 
with James Harden,
 
driving constantly
towards a hoop as tall
and beautiful as you are.
 

—from Rattle #80, Summer 2023

__________

Nicholas Holt: “I used to think the only good job was being paid to write poetry. While pursuing that job, my goals of making money and writing poetry kept interfering with each other. I tried to write poems that sounded like what was selling, and writing them felt inauthentic. This poem is a reflection on that period of my life and marks one of my first attempts to re-enter my voice with a new perspective. It feels good to write what makes your soul feel fully explored, whether it helps you ease life’s other burdens or not.”

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July 30, 2023

“Teamsters in the Flock Beside the Lake” by T.R. PoulsonPosted by

T.R. Poulson

TEAMSTERS IN THE FLOCK BESIDE THE LAKE

And those who ate the loaves were five thousand men
—Mark 6:44

Loaves pile up unleavened before the windburnt throng
as Jesus’ groupies count lake trout, and math seems wrong.
 
Dead fish multiply, and on the shore a multitude surrounds
them. Disciples fistbump pharisees. No sunscreen, wrong
 
sandals untied in dust. I ask a man who looks like Jesus
for another loaf, and butter. Your union team is wrong,
 
he says, to crave one more fillet when some have none.
You don’t need sugar, cherries, cream. It’s wrong
 
to strike a company whose boss eats lobster goldfried
rare. Another Jesus-man pats my hand. You dream wrong
 
dreams. To eat and sleep and work should be enough. I say
I crave more, but I’m not a greedy fucker. Scales gleam wrong
 
in cloudlight. Mahi mahi, broken. Among whitecaps, a ship
bears spice-swirled loaves wrapped in satin. Sails lean wrong
 
in windfall. Jesus says my name wrong. Makes tea instead
of wine. Beyond the water, grass grows greener, but wrong.
 

—from Poets Respond

__________

T.R. Poulson: “I am a UPS Teamster. This poem is in response to the contract negotiations and tentative agreement. I wrote it while imagining the talks had broken down and led to the largest strike against a single employer in U. S. history.” (web)

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July 29, 2023

“Darkness of the Mind” by Vy HongPosted by

Vy Hong (age 14)

DARKNESS OF MIND

She lies in the darkness
Thinking of what used to be
Suffering is part of life
No one told her it would be this hard
 
Thinking of what used to be
She cries alone in her room
No one told her it would be this hard
Her mind is a prison cell she’s stuck in
 
She cries alone in her room
Remembering the moment
Her mind is a prison cell she’s stuck in
There’s no one to help her
 
Remembering the moment
Opens the wounds of his words
There’s no one to help her
She slips and falls off the edge of sanity
 
Opening the wounds of his words
She sits at the bottom
She slips and falls off the edge of sanity
Her mouth is silent as her mind races
 
She sits at the bottom
Thinking of the scars he left
Her mouth is silent as her mind races
Deep cuts let her heart bleed out
 
Thinking of the scars he left
How suffering is part of life
The night closes in and clouds block the stars
She lies in the darkness
 

—from 2023 Rattle Young Poets Anthology

__________

Why do you like to write poetry?

Vy Hong: “While I don’t often write poetry, I find that it is a good way for me to become inspired to write. Writing poetry allows me to get into a headspace to sit down and write, which is most of the time the hardest part. Some sort of accomplished feeling comes from creating anything you’re proud of and poetry often helps me stay motivated to continue writing and continue feeling accomplished and proud of myself.”

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July 28, 2023

“Orchestra” by Joanne RushPosted by

Joanne Rush

ORCHESTRA

 
Orchestra by Joanne Rush, picture of a bluff overlooking the sea with flowers in the foreground, poem text on the image

objkt.com | image/png

Lying in the sun on a grassy bank near a cliff edge is one of the most luxurious experiences life offers. The Llyn Peninsula juts out from North Wales into the Irish Sea—a dream, a wish, a song, a truth, a memory. Minted as part of my first cryptopoetry collection, October 2022.

—from Rattle #80, Summer 2023
Tribute to NFT Poets

__________

Joanne Rush: “I discovered NFTs by accident when I was invited to feature in The Tickle, a digital arts and literature magazine. A vibrant, welcoming and supportive community of international artists had congregated around the Tezos blockchain, so for me it was love at first sight. Collaborating with generative artists and creative coders has opened the door to thrilling new worlds. And it’s a joy to get fresh eyes on more traditional poems, too.”

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July 27, 2023

“Image of a Woman Along a Sidewalk” by Jason BrunnerPosted by

Untold Stories by Judith Fox, collage photograph of woman with a door lock over her face

Image: “Untold Stories” by Judith Fox. “Image of a Woman Along a Sidewalk” was written by Jason Brunner for Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge, June 2023, and selected as the Editor’s Choice. (PDF / JPG)

__________

Jason Brunner

IMAGE OF A WOMAN ALONG A SIDEWALK

“She’s too pretty to be missing,”
my father said as we walked past the poster,
 
in that offhanded way that made my cheek twitch.
I wondered what malady made him say it—
 
maybe an old fleck of lead paint had lodged itself
in just the right part of his brain,
 
or he was choking on his own Adam’s apple
and didn’t think to cover his mouth.
 
Not ten steps into my speculation,
he stopped to talk to a shop owner
 
who was installing new locks on her door,
and she gestured across the street
 
to a vape shop with a plastic tarp
taped over its missing center pane.
 
It shuddered in the wind
with the same enthusiasm
 
as a sheet of glass in the moment
that a rock strikes it, and it shatters.
 

—from Ekphrastic Challenge
June 2023, Editor’s Choice

__________

Comment from the series editor, Megan O’Reilly: “What first caught my eye in this poem was the author’s depiction of the subject of this artwork as a missing person. The figure in Fox’s piece has a look in her eyes that strikes me as both haunted and searching, as if the victim of some unknown horror, which made it easy to envision this enigmatic face on a missing person poster. I was also impressed by the line ‘he was choking on his own Adam’s apple / and didn’t think to cover his mouth’ and how it parallels the image of the door keyhole as a mouth. What will stay with me most, though, is the quietly philosophical nature of the last two stanzas–the idea of the aftermath of a violent act having ‘the same enthusiasm’ as the act itself.”

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