Poetry Writing Titles on Sale Through April




Our eCommerce Marketing Manager just let me know this morning that all our poetry-related Writer’s Digest Books will be on sale through the month of April. All our poetry writing books will be marked down at least 20% during the month (no offer code needed) and orders that exceed $25 get free U.S. shipping (sorry non-U.S. poets).


If you’re interested in checking them out, just go to: http://www.writersdigestshop.com/category/poetry

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18 thoughts on “Poetry Writing Titles on Sale Through April

  1. Penney

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  2. Phyllis Rauch

    Being myself

    In German it’s so easy to be private, to
    hold the others at arm’s length, or more.
    If I never let mself say Du to you,
    my sacred space remains inviolate
    In Spanish I touch others on the arm. .
    We hug, kiss each other’s cheek or lips.
    My casa is their casa, and also visa versa
    A friend once said, "I first become my
    true self in speaking another language.."
    She was right. Through a longish life
    I’ve yet to find out who I must be
    when I have to speak in English,
    my so-called mother tongue.

  3. Jim Mroczkowski

    JUST A SILENT MORNING

    The darkness before dawn
    Silence
    A world its own
    A natural wonder
    A flame inside your head
    Your ears work too much
    Darkness shares its stare
    In apprehensive quiet
    The solumnity reminds a
    Soldier of time stopping
    Before an ambush
    Dawn is waiting
    Progress is not quick
    A slow force
    Contractions come and go
    As dark fights for existence
    Lights turn of earth
    A rotation
    Reflection
    A star, a sun
    Rays radical, slow
    Eternal
    Its rock crumbling
    In days, years, millennia
    The Meremac River will appear
    In April dress
    As light reveals
    A reflective smile

  4. Meagan Albright

    Emerged from the ship
    carried along
    stuck in his
    shoe
    stumbling along the
    brown path
    into the yard with the flamingo
    between the gnome
    and the cardboard lady
    the seed was planted

  5. Amy Gunn

    Creation

    Knit,
    Purl,
    Knit,
    Purl.
    Her needles click as a pattern begins to emerge.
    The colors, dizzying and seductive
    Wrap her in their warmth.

    Knit,
    Purl,
    Knit,
    Purl.
    Each stitch slides easily from one needle to the other.
    The fiber, exotic and sensuous
    Sings of affection and comfort.

    Knit,
    Purl,
    Bind,
    Clip.
    She pulls her new socks on with a sigh and wiggles her toes.

    1 April, 2009

  6. Madeline McCully

    Pearl Girl Plucks at Fish

    The girl, a translucent pearl
    Plucks a fish and guts it.
    Wipes the shimmering scales from her hands
    On the candy striped apron.
    The smell of the water
    Gags her before it gurgles
    through the sluice beyond.
    Jimmy shouts, “You’re slacking!
    We’ll never get these to Billingsgate
    in a month of Sundays!”

    She smiles, someday she go to Maui
    Use a snorkel to watch live fish
    Swim beneath her white body.
    The air will be scented with coconut oil.
    A stranger slags her breast-stroke.
    She rolls and dives, tasting the salt water,
    Comes up for air.
    “Hawaiian Wedding Song”
    tinnily floats from the Tannoy.
    The scorching summer sun seduces her skin
    like dry ice, an eloquent torture.
    She draws the waves over her
    – a 10 tog duvet.

    Big Badger watches from the beach.
    Later he will swagger home and laugh-
    knowing she is out of her depth.
    He could have led her over lava rocks
    And pools suffocated by seaweed.
    Now she is lost,

    ‘Sa terre n’arrête pas de tourner’
    Even when they shout « Tea-break !”
    And everyone downs knives
    The blood doesn’t stop
    pouring through the sluice.

    1/4/09

  7. Rosalie Nelson

    How did it begin?

    A few angry words,
    A slamming of the door
    tearful arguments
    and reconciliations

    A gradual pulling away
    emotionally, then physically too.

    A coldness of the heart
    begins slowly, a reverse
    melting of an iceberg.

  8. Jane Goodman

    I lose The Game.
    This game is a mind game.
    You can not win The Game.
    You can only lose The Game.
    The only way to stop playing The Game
    is to convince yourself there is no game,
    or to die.
    The objective of The Game, itself,
    is to avoid thinking about The Game.
    If you think of The Game you lose.
    When you lose, you must announce ”I lose.”
    The other objective of The Game, itself,
    is to get everyone to play the game.
    This game is impossible to win.
    It is THE GAME.
    The Game.
    You lose.

    (P.S. — I’m 13… )

  9. Danielle Swanson

    The origin of pet.

    She was a large brown marked creature, whose eyes held the secrets of the stars. He was smaller, somehow resembling her perfectly, only boasting a coat much more winter ready.
    In the hard world of winter they huddled together in boxes, using thier wild charms to seduce every neighborhood woman worth her fried chicken into purchasing a bag of cheap cat food to sustain them; they were known as yesterday’s cats.
    Before any human could guess it, these two smelled the thaw of winter and responded as God intended, as spring means kittens and without kittens there is no spring.
    One month later a southern woman with to many dogs to respond to befriends mama brown, coaxes her into the basement with a freshly purchased cat bed, and feeds her milk whenever mama pleads, which is more often than not. Not one to forget the male that first brought mama there, she leaves food out for him too.
    Mama swells as all women must and walks with the pride only those who have survived can claim. She stays with the woman, as she feeds her boiled chicken, and forsakes her feral role for something better. She cries for outside but her keeper won’t have any of that…a few more days and she will become five, perhaps six. The woman holds her, humms, reminescing on her own six born and in the midnight hour mama bares four more quietly, leaving a few dissapointed that they missed such an occasion.
    She will not be roadkill. She will not huddle in a shed any longer, only daring to leave her brood when any animal fiercer than her sleeps. Her new family will all go to worthy homes; they will never taste the desperation of survival.
    Mama brown reigns with her southern woman for her life, eventually growing the fat pad that all cats lucky enough to become "pets" own.

  10. Julie Hairston

    Loosy-Goosy

    Loosy Goosy- origin: In 1801, a man named Billy Dilly from GottaWanna, Betchomamma was tired of writing and speaking in sophisticated prose. One day when no one was looking he slipped a few more words into the dictionary to satisfy his need for variety. And besides, he loved to hear his own name being sung in the schoolyard as a boy:
    “Billy Dilly is so silly, when he’s cold he is so chilly, but when he’s not, he’s really hot!”
    His first word ‘Loosy-Goosy’ was born when he accidentally pinched his girlfriend Lucy in the derriere and she honked like a goose. Soon other fun combinations started to tumble from his tongue and fell ‘topsy- turvy’ onto the paper. ‘Teeny- Weeny’ found its place in Billy’s Accidental Dictionary when his wiener dog reached its teenage years. ‘Dilly- Dally’ became a prize winner when his pregnant wife Lucy proclaimed her insatiable desire for dill pickles one night and Billy was gone for hours on his midnight run to the store. While his mother –in-law Bitty, diligently spent hours knitting booties for the baby he couldn’t help scribbling down “nitty- gritty” because of her annoying habit of grinding her teeth when she was nervous. The baby arrived ‘willy-nilly’ only 3 weeks past his due date. Little Willy Dilly couldn’t be cuter! When he started to walk he fell head over heels all the time into their beautiful garden of daisies- Oopsy Daisy! Don’t worry little Willy Dilly was no ‘mamsy- pansy’. As a matter of fact, when he grew into his manhood he decided to become a conductor on the railroad because he loved the “toot toot” of the train whistle. He became one helluva rooten- tooten tooter on the 2:10 to Rooten, Illinois. Those who lived in Rooten were affectionately known as ‘Rooty’s’ but occasionally were taunted by nearby ‘Snooty’s’ (from Snooten, Illinois) who called them Tooty Fruity Rooty’s. But, we won’t go there. Sadly, one day in 1895 Billy Dilly committed hari-kari so he was never to add that fun word or the very appropriate, ‘silly- billy’ to Billy’s- not- so- frilly Dictionary. An account of the many thousands of words that were added before his death is sketchy and loosy-goosy at best.
    Julie Hairston

  11. Amy

    Rebirth

    The night we were born,
    The pain shot straight through,
    Bottom to top and back down again.
    Fast as lightning strike,
    Sure as tick-ticking.

    Pressure squeezed tight,
    Pushed and molded.
    Our muscles gone taut,
    The countdown began.

    Ten.
    Nine.
    Eight.
    From inside
    We chanted our name.

    Seven.
    Six.
    Five.
    Falling, falling, silken and slippery
    The ground rose up to meet us.

    Four.
    Three.
    Two.
    The world blazed white.

    One.
    We were one.

    The pain fell away
    As our cries
    Filled the room
    With life.

  12. Becky Chakov

    TRILOGY
    Test Track: Training ground for Pollyannas;
    Never being top bananas.
    Diagnosis: Psychiatry attempts to stop
    Our mental substitutes for pot.
    A Toast: To our most artful social grace
    Our publicly perfomarming face.

  13. Jill V Woodward

    It began with the raindrop
    which trickled slowly
    from my hair
    to behind my ear
    then making its way down my neck
    finally stopping only when
    it was absorbed by the collar of my cotton shirt

    More raindrops fell
    until my hair, my shirt, my shoes
    were saturated with the cold wetness

    I shivered
    but continued on my way
    until

    We met

    Too late for any umbrella
    too late to keep from shivering
    until

    You held me
    and I melted in the rain.

  14. Penny Henderson

    Poor Rosemary!! I am impatient enough here on the East Coast. Proper respect and all that Robert, but how about posting before you go to bed for us early birds? It would take all the pressure off the morning, too 🙂

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