"A Troubling" is calling for submissions to print in our new Literary & Arts publication. Any and all of the work that we receive will be considered for print. Please send as much work as you would like as frequently as you like.

We are currently accepting:

Poetry
Prose
Short Stories
Any & All Fiction (Flash and/or Micro)
Essays
Interviews
Critiques
Erotica
Recipes
Instructional Writing
Art & Photography
Cover Art
Anything we can print

Please keep in mind all art submissions will be printed in black & White.
Please be aware that submissions will not be returned & we encourage those who submit art to send copies, i.e. a photo of your work.

SEND ALL SUBMISSIONS TO ATROUBLING@MAIL.COM ALONG WITH YOUR CONTACT INFO

So i worked out the language bugs, repetition bugs, workshopped this around school, talked to some confidantes and seasoned veterans, and have taken all their squabblings into consideration. Its down to line breaks now so these are the two forms I have for this newly revised version of the LOF piece. Please if you have been keeping up with the history of this poem contribute to my plight and help me tinker it to perfection.

To The Lady of Flies on the Event Horizon:

“Let starless dark night skies strafe

your glowing chambered eyes.

As stirring maelstrom cosmos

your sable pearls do shine.

Grant ebon glaring eyes, grace

confined so dark and wise,

leer captured incandescence;

this universe now dies.”

Her ornamental gaze secretes,

fills blackened oceans as it weeps,

and frozen so, my heart retreats

too cold, too black to nourish flies.

To The Lady of Flies on the Event Horizon:

“Let starless dark night skies

strafe your glowing chambered

eyes. As stirring maelstrom

cosmos your sable pearls

do shine. Grant ebon

glaring eyes, grace confined

so dark and wise, leer

captured incandescence;

this universe now dies.”

Her ornamental gaze secretes,

fills blackened oceans

as it weeps, and frozen so,

my heart retreats too cold,

too black to nourish flies.

© Rick Perosi 2008-2009

I've posted this a few times with a few adaptations.

I'm looking for critique on the language, flow, rhythnm and rhyme scheme. I have to workshop this is a thirty hours with author Michael Waters so any help or advice is very apreciated. Thanks e'erybodae!!!!

I Say to The Lady of Flies:

“Let freezing black night skies

strafe your glowing chambered eyes.

As stirring maelstrom-universes,
your blameless sable pearls do shine.

They melt my stricken heart,

here it lies.

 

Let liquid coal black eyes,

corby brilliant coal so wise,

peer as chambered incandescent

ebon universe alive.

Stir my bleeding maelstrom heart,

so that it dies…”

 

That ornamental gaze secretes

starless oceans as it weeps,

and frozen so my heart retreats.

Too cold to nourish flies.

© Rick Perosi 2008-2009

Got a poem(s), story, screenplay,song, comedy routine, or other way to express yourself that you're itching to unleash upon the public? Well, whether you're in the area, a Brookdale student, or you're just flat-out willing to present your work in public (or even just come to listen to the awesome talent!), then this Cinco de Mayo (May 5th for the uninitiated), come on over to the Inkwell and free your mind, or let your mind free other minds!

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=70936704087

Host:

Brookdale Creative Writing Club

Type:

Music/Arts - Performance

Network:

Brookdale

Start Time:

Tuesday, May 5, 2009 at 8:00pm

End Time:

Wednesday, May 6, 2009 at 12:00am

Location:

The Inkwell Coffeehouse

Street:

665 2nd Ave.

City/Town:

Long Branch, NJ

..

..

I have been pretty busy these past few weeks with school. I've written a lot but nothing that is ready to be put up here. Hopefully, for those of you who are avid readers of this blog, there will be bunches of new stuff for you to critique sooner than later. Thanks for checking up on me, I'm 7 hits away from 43,000 blog views and I hope to keep climbing. I consider this a personal accomplishment that you have all helped to make.



thanks,
Happy Hunting,
-Rick

COME OUT TO THE INKWELL TONIGHT AND SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL POETRY SCENE!!!!!!!!!!




OPEN MIC
INKWELL COFFEE HOUSE
665 2ND AVE
LONG BRANCH, NEW JERSEY
    
I'LL BE READING ALONG WITH MY LOVELY WIFE, NJ'S OWN TOMMI INFAMOUS, BILLIAM mCwYLDE, AND MANY MORE SO COME SHOW SOME LOVE!!!!!!!!

On Chuck Connelly

Chuck Connelly is a broken cog, a bit of gold,
Don't feel bad for his life; feel bad for his wife:

Love the accent.
Love-support.
Leaves him in a power-move.
Clever, that one.

So belligerency bound in beer cans strewn around a full studio
full of work that doesn't sell.
This guy's his own worst enemy.
Poor dude's his own cliché:

Suffering an artist lives,
Suffering so to work within his cranial aesththetic-genius,
Getting work done, exercising,
Not selling a thing,
Pissing & moaning,
Suffering-suffering-suffering (almost like most artists think otherwise).
Unknowingly gearing-up to deteriorate his corpse
for a second wind of post-mortem fame. Maybe he knows.
Heh! May we all have that one day.

© Rick Perosi 2008

Have you ever gone through an Identity crisis?

No.

Self awareness.
Swimming not squirming
in skin that's yours.
Owning up to you,
not hiding shine or shame.

Not having to is hard
enough to do alone.

Fear's our Ghost.
So sorry so is hope.
Don't worry though,
smile while withstanding
phantasmal dread and worriment.

Realize anxiety's brash
fleece around our mind.
The trick's our temperance,
butterflied and stuffed
with common sense;
being kind.

© Rick Perosi 2008

Fire on the Arctic Sea

…on the deck of the Arctic Sea there was no breeze oddly,
Breath then steamed across our sight by a sudden abrupt cross-wind,
Also at that moment, a sudden orange glint miles from us,
And the spot over the stern shown the choppy black-mass we we're in.

So a point of reference now was that orange blip,
And a ruckus enough to wake Krispy, who crankily came out to the biting ocean   air-salt, smoking a cigarette, asking:
             "Who's that?"

Greg and I both shrugged,
It didn't matter… … dead or stranded,
"We gotta go check that out"

 

(Hours later)

 

…we heard Grapeshot two miles from landfall,
Killed the engines and lights and sat on the ship.
Moments from Zihuatanejo,
Needing supplies and some news,
Some damned navigation,

 

(An Explosion)

 

Like fireworks, light. Then a forceful sounding BOOM!
A larger orange filter than the blip,
This time it was a momentary orange Day,
Like lightning, destroying the oblique-sanctuary night is.
Then nothing. Dark returns.

We wait quietly,

We wait quietly,

"…there is no more fire."
we get as close as we can and drop anchor.

Greg says, "I'm gonna go
One walkie,
Couple flares,
8-shot Mossberg with the rubberized grip"

"We can wait 'til morning and all go."
The rocking Arctic Sea made all three of us sway in the same direction and back again.
I prep the Zodiac with Krispy; we notice how dark the ocean is at night,
Minutes later we're bussing into shore.

…as Greg dissolves in dark away from us,
We sit on some large rocks and smoke cigarettes, just smoking cigarettes,
Saying, nothing,
Time passes.
Krispy flicks his -butt to the tide,
"We need beer, no?"
I agree.

Time passes still,
Sky lightens to navy,
Sun's coming,
Nothing from Greg since he left,
My walkie chirps a, "Yo"

 "What's really good",
he says, "nothing man,
anyone trying to signal is gone, nothing but a thatchy smoldering ghost town."
"Beat"
"I'm coming Down"
Krispy's smoking a cigarette.

© Rick Perosi 2008